Get Rid of It
by Requiescat in Pace il Ti Amor
Summary: When renowned artist Leonardo da Vinci finds himself with an unlikely pet, Ezio Auditore can't resist the chance to test the boundaries of their friendship. M/M EzioxLeonardo
1. Finally!

"Leonardo," the young man said blandly, "tell me why you have a cow in the middle of your studio."

The artist waved his hand in the air as if to dismiss the issue. "It was a gift from a poor commissioner. I figured I could use her for something," he said.

"And what did you paint for the commissioner?" Ezio asked, his hand trailing along the cow's coarse, dark brown side. The beast mooed softly, lifting her head as if she enjoyed the touch.

Leonardo smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, let's say it's most unfortunate for her, but good for my work that she cannot have children, else my painting would have been exiled to the attic."

Ezio raised a brow, and he returned his friend's smirk. "Ah, then perhaps my suspicions of you were wrong."

Now, it was Leonardo's turn to frown. "What suspicions?" he asked, approaching the assassin.

Much to the cow's delight, Ezio moved his hand to scratch behind its ear as he stated nonchalantly, "I was afraid you had lost interest in women." In fact, he'd wondered how to bring the topic up, but hadn't ever found an appropriate time to do so.

"I beg your pardon," Leonardo said quickly, the faint blush on his cheeks betraying the calmness of his words, "did you believe I preferred the company of men?"

Ezio blinked a few times, surprised. "Well...no," he said. "I meant nothing of the sort. I simply thought you had fallen in love with your work—of course, if you thought your work had to involve men, that would be completely your business—"

"Ezio Auditore, you dog," Leonardo sighed, a wry smile on his lips, "you nearly gave me a heart attack." There was an edge to his smile, which was only sharpened when he said softly, "Don't ever say something like that again...please."

The assassin's keen eyes assessed Leonardo, and then he took a few steps toward the artist. "I can't imagine why you would come to that conclusion," he said slowly. "Unless you had something to hide. And in my experience, what seems to be blatantly obvious is often the truth."

A myriad of expressions passed over Leonardo's face. Uncertainty, anxiety and, of all things, fear! Did Leonardo think he was going to run him through on the spot for having a taste that clashed with society's beliefs? "I don't know what you are talking about," the artist said, turning his face away.

Trying to lighten the mood, Ezio moved his hand to Leonardo's waist and asked, "_Maestro_ Leonardo, are you lying to me?" He felt the older man tense under his touch and almost pulled away, almost dropped the pretense. This was something they would need to talk about eventually, but perhaps now was not the best time...one way or another, the subject had to be broached.

"Let it be," Leonardo said sharply, though he didn't move away.

"I believe you _are_ lying," Ezio replied, moving his arm around Leonardo's waist. He pulled the shorter man closer to him, smirking even as he felt his friend shy away.

"Release me," he said forcefully. Then, regretting the bite of his tone, said more gently, "Please, Ezio." He chewed his lip to stop it quivering and shut his eyes tightly. _Not again_, he prayed. _Please, God, not again_.

This could have happened any other day. They could have had this conversation tomorrow and neither of them would have been worse for wear. Then again, Ezio could be five cities away before morning. If they discussed this now, they could enjoy the rest of their time together rather than having the topic loom over them like a storm cloud. Today would be theirs.

"Not this time," Ezio breathed. He moved his mouth close to Leonardo's ear and whispered, "We will talk, but for now, play along. Just for the evening."

He practically felt Leonardo weighing the decision, running through scenarios of how their conversation could go. He came to a conclusion and turned his head to the side, whispering back, "Then I suppose we should make it count."

Grinning fiercely, Ezio growled, "Do you not enjoy my touch?"

"Of course I do," Leonardo retorted, his tone suddenly haughty, "I just—ow! That was my ear."

"Indeed." Ezio released his friend's ear and moved his mouth down, past long hair that shone gold in the candlelight, brushed his lips across smooth, pale skin that felt hot to the touch. He touched his lips to Leonardo's neck, nibbling gently and running the tip of his tongue in small circles, teasing, tasting.

"Ezio please...," Leonardo whispered, leaning his head back. He breathed deeply, sighing in what could have been delight or resignation—it was hard to judge the tone of a breath. "...stop."

"Why?" Ezio murmured against Leonardo's neck. "I thought you would like this. You didn't sound thrilled when you spoke of your commissioner. Did she not offer you any other sort of...compensation?"

Leonardo gasped softly when Ezio's hands slid past his belly, ghosting down below his belt. "No," he said, his voice reedy, "but I didn't ask."

"And why didn't you?" Ezio purred, his fingers tracing the considerable bulge at Leonardo's groin. The assassin's lithe fingers found the ends of the leather strips that held the pants closed and pulled them slowly, ever so slowly.

"Don't," Leonardo said suddenly, putting his hands over Ezio's. He remembered the raid, the panic on everyone's faces when the guards streamed into the building. The Medici boy had sworn to have him released as soon as possible, but Leonardo had spent weeks in a filthy jail cell, terrified of the fate that awaited him should he be tried. All because of the misgivings of a young man's past. He closed his eyes and mastered his breath, hanging his head. "We can't."

"Is the great Leonardo da Vinci about to turn down the offer of the century?" Ezio teased.

Raising a brow, Leonardo turned his face away. Something about that statement disarmed him, blew his uncertainties away like so many grains of sand. "That's rather cocksure—hmph!" His eyes widened when Ezio took his chin in a thumb and finger, lifted his face, and kissed him. It was unexpected, almost insulting, that Ezio hadn't so much as asked permission. Leonardo considered pulling away, but found himself lost in the warmth of Ezio's mouth. He held his hands out to his sides, unsure what to do with them, fearful that if he touched the assassin he would vanish into the shadows.

Slowly, Leonardo yielded to the kiss, to Ezio's wandering hand, to the heat of his lust. He shrugged off his doublet and tossed it aside, breaking the kiss so he could unlace the front of his shirt.

"Here, or upstairs?" Ezio asked breathily.

Leonardo glanced around his studio at the mess of papers and models that littered the tables, benches and—God Almighty, even the windowsills? He'd have to clean that up before... His eyes widened when he noticed the open window and he hurried across the room, reaching out to close the shutters. Of course, he knocked down several sketchbooks and thick tomes in the process, but he kicked them to the side absentmindedly.

Looking to the door, the artist grimaced and walked over, throwing the deadbolt. If anyone had walked past the window, they could have easily seen his and Ezio's shared kiss, could have seen the heresy for what it was and would surely report it to the guard like any God-fearing citizen. Would his head be on a pike by the morning? Or had they been lucky and escaped notice?

"Let's move the cow aside," Ezio said, seemingly oblivious to Leonardo's fears. He took the cow's rope bridal and led her to the side of the room, tying the lead loosely around one of the wooden support beams. "Come along, _mucca_," he said in a sing-song voice. He gave her one more scratch on her neck and then grinned at Leonardo. In that grin, Leonardo saw everything he had admired in the young man when first they met. The boyish charm, the wildness of youth, the mischief buried under layers of good breeding and proper lessons. It was an endearing grin, one of a maturing young man who knew it would get him what he wanted. Yet he didn't see Ezio as a child anymore. The assassin wasn't older than twenty-five, but already he had the haggard look of a man twice his age. Ezio thought he masked the effects of his line of work beneath his good looks and charming disposition, but that grin only served to emphasize that which he would hide.

Leonardo walked to Ezio, removing his shirt as he went. He was a modest man, but nudity was not something he was unaccustomed to. Many of his models had stood in this very room bare to the noontime sun. He tried not to think of them now, preferring to watch the young Auditore strip off his weapons and lay them on the table beside him.

"So many blades," Leonardo said mischievously, "one would think you'd hardly be a stranger to the odd sword fight."

Ezio's brows shot up and he barked a laugh, sudden and genuine. "A jest! From you, Leonardo?"

"I am full of surprises," the artist replied, smiling.

"Surprise me again and find a clean spot on the floor," Ezio chuckled.

Of all things, _that_ flustered him. He hated how quickly his studio cluttered when he worked, but with an assistant who never seemed to be around to do his job, what was one to do?

Working quickly, Leonardo cleared the paper and debris from the floor, piling most of it on the table and a stuffed chair in the corner of the room. When he straightened from the chore, he turned to see the assassin standing fully naked in the midday sun. He wasn't abnormally tall, but neither was he short. Most of his height came from his lean, muscled legs, and there didn't seem to be a shred of unnecessary fat on the young man. He had a runner's body with the definition of someone who dedicated their life to the demands of leaping across rooftops and climbing to impossible heights like the lunatic he was.

Most interesting, though, were the scars that littered the assassin's tanned skin. He wore them well, no puckering, no excess scar tissue. The blades must have been truly fine to have left such thin ghosts. The thickest scar, about a finger's breadth at its widest, tapered from just below Ezio's left pectoral to a few inches above his navel.

Leonardo glanced up at Ezio's face, taking in the apprehension in the young man's gaze. How many women had seen him nude, as he was, in full light? How many had he allowed to see the results of his work, the burdens he carried like a second armor beneath the hides and steels?

"They're beautiful," Leonardo said softly, stepping close enough to trail his fingers down the thickest scar. "A portrait I would be proud to paint."

"They may be pretty now," Ezio said, grinning brashly, "but they hurt more than they had any right to."

Allowing his gaze to travel over the assassin's honed body, Leonardo moved his hands to his sides. "Then show me what is really taught in the Brotherhood," he said wryly, "so that I may protect myself."

Ezio stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed Leonardo, holding his face gently in calloused hands. This was what Leonardo had wanted for so long, what he had fantasized about more than once, what he had thought he could never have. So why did it feel wrong? Why did he feel like he was breaking a rule that should have been left alone? Every frantic breath, every feather-light touch, it all felt wrong, like a dream that had escaped the confines of his mind.

"Take me," Leonardo breathed against the younger man's cheek. He kissed the corner of Ezio's mouth and pulled away to look into those hazel eyes. They were intelligent, sharp, endless. And something else...embarrassed? Frowning, Leonardo asked, "What's wrong?"

Ezio looked down at the floor, seeming troubled. His hands rested on Leonardo's sides, absently feeling for muscles that weren't there. Although fit, Leonardo was not particularly muscular. He wondered if that mattered to the assassin. "I have never had um...sex...with a man before," Ezio admitted, keeping his voice low.

Not quite believing what he was hearing, Leonardo cocked his head to the side. Grown though he may be, in some things, he supposed, all men retained their innocence. "You...of all the men I know, _you_, are embarrassed by sex?" he asked. Then he laughed. "Come, Ezio. I will show you."

They knelt together on the floor, trading light kisses and caressing each other gently. Their breath came faster and heavier as their lust grew until they could stand it no longer. Leonardo fetched a vial of olive oil, poured a small amount into his palm, and reached out, taking Ezio into his hand. They kissed as he stroked, running his thin fingers up and down Ezio's length. When he broke the kiss, he noted the glazed look in the assassin's eyes and filed it away in his memory. This was a weakness an enemy could easily exploit. He would have to decide later what to do with that information.

Turning around, Leonardo backed up, gesturing for Ezio to come close. The other followed instructions, moving his arms around Leonardo's front.

"Not that close," the artist whispered. He reached back and took hold of Ezio again, guiding the man to his entrance. "Gently at first."

Ezio's hands explored Leonardo's body as if trying to memorize every peak and valley, every smooth surface he could find. He nibbled Leonardo's neck, biting a little harder when the artist gasped half in pain, half in pleasure. They knelt there together, ignoring the pains in their knees from the unforgiving hardwood floor, and they had their pleasure. Leonardo arched into Ezio's thrusts, moaning quietly under his breath, moving his hips in time when Ezio faltered.

"Almost," Leonardo whispered.

Studious concentration bowed to heated desperation as Ezio thrust, burying his face in Leonardo's shoulder. He reached around to take the artist in his hand and stroked, bringing Leonardo over his edge with a small, surprised cry. His eyes closed and he went to kiss the other's shoulder, but felt the rush of pleasure too late. He bit down on Leonardo's neck, hard enough to draw another cry from the man, this one less pleased.

"You're an animal!" Leonardo panted, pushing himself up. He stumbled when he tried to stand and sat hard on the floor. He looked over at Ezio, unsure whether to laugh or chastise the boy. Ezio's cheeks were ruddy, his brow beaded with sweat. The look in his eye was purely predator, and it stirred something deep inside of Leonardo, something that longed for the power that look promised, that longed to be ordered and forced and broken.

"Again," Ezio croaked, crawling toward the artist.

"Again? Are you not satisfied?" Leonardo asked, looking down at Ezio's lap where the man still stood at attention.

"Not in the least," he said, crushing his lips to Leonardo's in a rough kiss. Admittedly, Leonardo wasn't opposed to more attention, but he realized this wasn't just Ezio being kind to him. He had forgotten the ferocity of a young man's appetite. He was in for quite a night.

Leonardo pulled back to suggest they move to the bedroom when Ezio yelped and jerked away, landing on his backside. He spat a curse and reached for a sword that was no longer on his hip.

The cow stood before Leonardo, her head high, the whites of her eyes rimming her irises. The lead hung from her bridle, proof that Ezio hadn't tied her as securely as he might have thought. She sniffed the air then turned around, walking back to the small pile of hay in the corner of the studio.

"It bit me!" Ezio exclaimed, turning his leg to examine the two neat rows of red marks on his olive skin. He looked over at Leonardo, gesturing helplessly to the cow. "She _bit_ me!"

Leonardo smirked and said, "I suppose you know how it feels now!"

Ezio blushed, drawing a snicker from the artist, and stood. "Get rid of it," he growled, retreating to another room to dress. Leonardo's laughter followed him.


	2. A Proper Goodbye

Soft morning sunlight shone through the window beside the twin bed. The man beneath the covers was cast in a halo of light, giving him an angelic appearance. He was still fast asleep, curled on his side with his hands beneath his pillow. Without a sound, the assassin crept closer to his quarry, his hood hiding dark hair and casting deep shadows over his face as he tiptoed toward the bed.

Slowly, the assassin pulled the blanket away from the man's naked, unscarred torso. The man's hand moved to grab for the blanket. When he didn't find it, he murmured softly, turned his face toward the window and breathed a small sigh before settling again. His hair, spread out on the pillow as it was, resembled a crown—it practically glowed in the sunlight. How could a man be so beautiful? It didn't seem fair.

"Leonardo," the assassin said softly, his deep voice as gentle as the chilly breeze that whispered through the room from the open shutters. "Leonardo, it's time to wake up..."

The artist stirred again, and his eyes opened a crack, showing a glimpse of vibrant blue eyes. He jerked upright, wide awake now, and grabbed at his blanket, pulling it to his chest. "Ezio?" the artist demanded, his eyes wide. "What are you doing here?"

Ezio's scarred lips pulled up in a smirk. "But of course. Do you know anyone else who would break into your studio just to say good morning?" He sat on the edge of the bed, shifting the scabbard that hung from his belt as he did. "How are you?"

Leonardo smiled softly, turning his face away from the dawn light. The movement cast half his features in shadow, lending him a cryptic appearance. It didn't suit him. "I'm fine, Ezio, really. You worry too much."

"You are my friend, Leonardo. It's my job to worry about you," Ezio insisted. His expression softened as he examined the man's features, and he reached out to run the backs of his fingers gently over Leonardo's jaw. He hadn't shaved recently, and the blond stubble felt oddly nice against Ezio's skin. "A duty I take on gladly," he added gently.

In the light, Leonardo blushed faintly, pulling back from the assassin's touch. "Ezio, I thought you had business in Firenze? You told me you couldn't stay long in Venezia." There was a hint of sadness in the artist's voice. It tugged at Ezio's heart.

"I know what I said," Ezio sighed. Then he grinned. "You didn't expect me to leave without saying goodbye, did you?"

Leonardo hesitated, then a small smile touched his lips. "I suppose not," he agreed. He lifted his gaze to settle on Ezio's hazel eyes, which looked nearly golden in the sunlight. His hand moved to Ezio's cowl, pulling it back. He ran his fingers over the assassin's dark hair, then toyed with the red ribbon that held the hair back in a short tail. "How exactly do you plan to say goodbye?" he asked.

A quizzical expression crossed Ezio's face, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against Leonardo's. They were warm, inviting. "Barring any interruptions from the _mucca_ tied up outside—which I could swear I told you to get rid of—I plan to say goodbye in the longest, slowest, most...enjoyable way I know how." He grinned and felt Leonardo mirror the expression. They kissed and he leaned forward more, careful not to trigger the mechanism on his hidden blade when he did. His other hand rested on Leonardo's hip, massaging lightly.

"I was planning to get rid of her," Leonardo said, closing his eyes. He leaned his head to the side, allowing Ezio to trail feather-light kisses along his jaw and neck. "She just looks so helpless. If I sell her, she'll surely be put to slaughter. I couldn't bear the thought. Salai will help me build her a proper shelter when we have time. I have been very busy with...with commissions—ah! Not so hard."

Ezio pulled away, kissing the small red marks his teeth had left on Leonardo's neck. "_Mi despiaci,_" he murmured, but he couldn't hide a smirk. "Is there any way I could make you forget the pain?"

"You know I want to," Leonardo said, running his fingers through Ezio's hair. "But..." His voice trailed off and he looked down at his lap, taking his hand back.

"But what?" Ezio asked, raising his hand to Leonardo's cheek. He stroked the stubble on the artist's chin with his thumb and smiled earnestly. "There's no one to bother us around here, and we won't have a repeat performance with the cow. What's holding you back?"

"Ezio," Leonardo sighed, placing his hand over the assassin's. "We just...we shouldn't."

A brief flash of annoyance darkened Ezio's expression. Leonardo was so worried about being found out, it was difficult sometimes to enjoy their time together. "I understand you're nervous, but—"

"Nervous," the artist scoffed. He turned away from Ezio and stood from the bed, making his way to the window. The assassin watched him go—more specifically, he watched Leonardo's ass go—and sat back on the bed, awaiting an explanation.

Leonardo closed the shutters and locked them securely, but didn't turn around once he had. He faced the wall for a long moment, then rested his brow against the shutters. "I'm not nervous, I'm frightened."

Without the light from the window, everything was cast in dim shadow. It took a moment for Ezio's eyes to adjust to the darkness, and once they had, he studied Leonardo—ogled, really. Muscular or not, the pale skin which was so rare among the Italian people stirred Ezio's hunger and made him feel aggressive, protective. "Has someone threatened you?" he demanded, his voice suddenly sharp and direct. If anyone so much as looked at Leonardo wrong, he would take their eyes and feed them to the cow outside.

"Of course not," Leonardo said, turning to face the room. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest, a defensive stance. Then he looked down at the floor and licked his lips. "Not directly, anyway."

"Who?" Ezio asked, standing and adjusting the sword at his hip pointedly.

Wary blue eyes watched the assassin's fingers tighten around the pommel, watched the white robes the man wore shift with the muscles under his skin, watched cold, reptilian distance enter the hazel eyes which had just moments before been so full of warmth and love. This was the man he had taken to his bed, the man he had pined over all these years. He was a killer, a dagger in the shadows, trained to do the one detestable thing that should have turned Leonardo away immediately. Yet all of it came second to the yearning in the artist's heart. He'd been alone for so long, dropping subtle hints to his oblivious assistants, trying to ignore the ache in his loins when he lay down to sleep at night, trying harder to turn his back to the depression that slept beside him like a cold, mocking lover. Ezio could be the answer to that. He could be so much more than a friend who dropped in every so often for a favor.

"If you want to go on a vigilante man-hunt," Leonardo said softly, "you'll have to slaughter all of Italia. All of the world that believes in our _benevolent_ God." He tried not to spit the word, but it was hard. It tasted like bile on his tongue. He wasn't an angry person, nor did he despise God, he despised the men who twisted and defiled His holy word and used it in their politics and their agendas.

Leonardo sighed hung his head. "Maybe you should leave. You don't want to miss your ship."

"I paid the captain not to leave without me," Ezio said, walking toward the artist. "You're upset. I'll be damned if I leave you like this."

Why did he have to be such a good man? In fact, why did he have to be a man at all? "I didn't mean to ruin your farewell, Ezio," he said, looking up at the assassin. "I'm just concerned that someone will see something they shouldn't."

"So what if they do?" Ezio demanded.

"Sodomy is no small offense," Leonardo snapped harshly. He bit his tongue when he saw the surprise in Ezio's eyes. He'd never raised his voice to Ezio, not once. That he would about this, certainly must have sparked some interest in the younger man. To Leonardo's chagrin, Ezio had the decency not to be angry, not to demand an explanation or recompense for being shouted at. Instead, he stepped forward, wrapped his arm around Leonardo's waist and wound his fingers in the artist's long, blond hair.

"The window is shut, the door is locked, we might as well seal our fates if we're to be tried for enjoying each other's company," he said. And then they kissed. They kissed, and Leonardo wasn't sure if he should be surprised, elated, sad. This was, after all, a farewell. Ezio was off to Firenze, and who knew when they would see each other again? One of them was bound to be pulled away for more pressing business eventually. It saddened Leonardo to realize that this was a temporary solution to a permanent problem.

"What if while you're away," he breathed against Ezio's cheek when they broke the kiss, "the city guards knock on my door? What am I to do then?"

Ezio pulled back a little, just enough to be able to look at Leonardo. He moved a hand to his hip and removed a small dagger from his belt. He held the knife by the blade and watched the sunlight that peeked through the crack between the shutters dance across the metal. "I think you know what to do," he said softly, almost remorsefully, like he didn't want to say these things to his friend.

Though he understood the sentiment, Leonardo knew he would do no such thing. He took the knife by the grip when Ezio offered it to him and set it on the dresser to their right. "Very well," he said. And that was that. He didn't want to speak of it anymore. Didn't want to give his mind time to think through the implications of Ezio gifting him that dagger.

"Come," Ezio offered, taking Leonardo's hands. He pulled the reluctant artist to the bed and laid him down. He studied his friend as his nimble fingers unclasped belts and buckles, letting various pieces of armor fall to the floor. His cloak fluttered down around his ankles and he leaned his sword in its scabbard against the wall.

"You're taking too long," Leonardo said. He sat up on the bed and helped Ezio remove his various weapons, marveling—not for the first time—at how many blades the man could hide on his person. Was that a crossbow on his back? How had he not noticed it before? "So many weapons, what would happen if you were cornered without them?"

"The man foolish enough to corner me would still end up just as dead," Ezio chuckled. "I do not need a weapon to be lethal."

Together, they removed his final vambrace and set it aside. Once again, Ezio guided the artist onto the bed. Their hands wandered over each other as they kissed, gentle at first and then firmer as they went. Leonardo was the first to use nails, trailing them lightly down Ezio's back around to his ass.

"Is that how it's going to be?" Ezio mumbled against the other's lips. He chuckled when Leonardo repeated the motion, his nails biting in a little harder and sending shivers down Ezio's spine.

"_Si_," Leonardo practically growled.

Pulling away, Ezio crawled down the artist's lean body, settling himself between the other's legs. He raised a brow and looked up at Leonardo.

"It's chilly," Leonardo explained defensively, though he couldn't completely hide the smile that accompanied the words.

"Allow me to wake him up then," Ezio laughed. He leaned down and went to work, drawing soft moans and small, plaintive whimpers from the artist whenever he came up for air. He replaced his mouth with his hand, working Leonardo while he watched the other's face. "Do you think he's awake now?" he asked.

"Very much so," Leonardo breathed. He met Ezio's eyes and reached down, cupping the assassin's cheeks in his hands. He guided Ezio back up his body, kissing him greedily, moaning when he felt the other's hardness against his leg. "Take me. Take me now, you damn fool."

"Patience, _amore_, all in good time," Ezio purred. He leaned down, nibbling and tasting Leonardo's neck as he knew the other liked. He spat in his hand to wet it, then moved his fingers to the artist's entrance, working him until he was practically trying to claw his skin off.

"I'm going to ravage you and leave nothing behind if you don't get inside me this instant," Leonardo panted, holding Ezio's gaze with his fingers in the other's hair.

"Very well." Ezio took himself in his hand, guiding as he pressed into Leonardo's body. He moaned softly, hanging his head as he thrust slowly. He'd pulled back for just a moment to readjust the stance of his legs when Leonardo growled and surged up, pushing Ezio to the side. He followed through with the motion, settling himself atop the assassin. For a moment, Ezio tensed, expecting to feel the hot agony of a blade in his side. It took him a moment to remember where he was, who he was with, and when he blinked his eyes open, feeling silly for having expected an attack, he had to struggle not to laugh. Leonardo was bouncing up and down, a look of frustration on his face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, stilling his hips.

"It would help," Ezio snickered, "if I was still inside of you."

Leonardo's cheeks darkened and he looked away as he lifted himself and reached back, settling back onto the assassin. His embarrassment was fleeting, because as soon as Ezio moved, he leaned his head back and failed to stifle a rather loud moan. "I've studied this position," he breathed, rolling his shoulders. He looked down at Ezio and placed his hands on the bed on either side of the assassin's broad shoulders. "Apparently it works best if I lean forward like this."

Though he'd only slept with the artist once in the past, Ezio had taken Leonardo to be more submissive in bed, less forthright. He was pleasantly wrong, but found he didn't particularly care. Especially not when Leonardo started moving. The older man thrust his hips, but it was a forward and back movement, not as pleasant as one would think. It rubbed Ezio wrong, made him wince when their skin dragged.

"Like this," he said when he couldn't stand it any longer. He placed his hands on Leonardo's hips and guided him, moving up and down, helping the other find a rhythm that suited him. When he released Leonardo's hips after a moment, his breath hitched. Leonardo started grunting with every downward thrust, and Ezio closed his eyes, focusing all of his attention on the man above him.

"I'm close," Leonardo panted, hanging his head. The tips of his hair tickled Ezio's nose and he brushed the pale locks back, guiding Leonardo down for another kiss. He reached down to grab Leonardo's ass and held him still, much to the other's confusion.

"Hold there," he whispered, resting back against the bed. He spread his feet a little wider apart and lifted his hips, thrusting up into Leonardo. The moans each stroke drew from the other were music to Ezio's ears and he watched Leonardo arch into his orgasm, watched the artist throw his head back, his mouth open, eyes shut tight as he rode his pleasure.

Ezio followed suit moments later, grunting as he came and lowered Leonardo, relieving his arms of the artist's weight. He wasn't heavy, but holding anything steady in that position for long was taxing.

Leonardo leaned heavily against Ezio's chest, shivering as he gasped for air. He blinked several times and met the younger's gaze, frowning slightly. "I got it on your lip," he apologized breathlessly. He reached forward with a trembling hand to wipe it way, but Ezio's tongue darted out, licking it away.

"I don't ever want you to apologize for having fun," Ezio panted. "_Intesi_?"

Leonardo nodded, then lifted himself off Ezio, falling onto the mattress with a sigh. He curled onto his side and shivered, looking up at Ezio as he stood. The assassin cleaned himself with a small rag he found in the bin of clothes that needed to be washed, then dressed. Once he was outfitted with all his gear, he picked up the dagger which had been discarded before and set it on Leonardo's bedside table. He leaned over his drowsy friend and kissed him softly, keeping it chaste. Leonardo returned the kiss in kind, and then pulled back.

"Be safe," he said softly.

Ezio smiled warmly. "Always. I will come to see you when I return from Firenze. I shouldn't be gone more than two weeks."

Leonardo closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh. "Two weeks is such a long time. Go. The sooner you leave, the sooner you will return."

The assassin pulled the blanket up around Leonardo's shoulders and tucked him in before leaving, his mind set on murder and other such bloody affairs.


	3. Time Apart

**Author's Note: I can't express how thankful I am for all of your guys' and gals' support! It means so much to me. So this chapter is actually delving in to a bit of a plot. It doesn't have any smut in it, but I promise in the next chapter there will be! I will make it extra special for all of you to make up for it! I hope you enjoy! Also, don't forget to comment! Any criticism you give me (no matter how small) will help make future chapters better! One last thing! If you have any requests for something you'd like to see Ezio and Leo do, pm me, and I will make it happen! Don't be shy! Anyways, enjoy~**

**Edit:****I realized I had mistakenly written Medici twice in the first part of this chapter when a reader contacted me about it; I meant to have written Pazzi, not Medici. I've amended that little issue with this update, and I apologize for any other confusion.**

The boat bucked and bobbed at the river's whims, groaning and creaking with the movements of her passengers. The young man had grown accustomed to the sway of the wood beneath his boots in his travels. In fact, he was proud to admit that motion no longer made him feel ill. As the deckhands would say, he had grown his sea legs. Odd bunch, they were. He thought the terms they used were amusing.

"_Messer_," one of said deckhands called as he approached. His accent was from Firenze, but his face was unfamiliar. The hooded man allowed himself to relax—only a little.

He turned to greet the caller. "_Si_?"

"_Messer_, some of the crew, not me, you understand, was wondering as to who you were. You haven't told none of us yer name, and we was wonderin'. Might you...indulge us?" The crewmember seemed eager, and with a glance behind him, the hooded figure could easily see the other deckhands crowded together, whispering and staring in his direction.

Chuckling, the man said, "Of course. I am Federico Melone."

The deckhand opened his mouth as if to speak but said nothing. He closed his mouth and then gave a quick duck of his head. "_Grazi, Messer _Federico."

"_Nessun problem_," the man in question said. He watched as the deckhand returned to his coworkers, then turned away slightly, straining to hear them.

"I told you it wasn't him, _idiota_!" one of the deckhands hissed. Another whispered harshly, "That traitor wouldn't come back to Firenze. Not if he's smart. The Pazzi would have him arrested the moment he stepped foot on shore!" The man who had spoken first agreed, "Ezio Auditore is a smart boy. If he knows what's good for him, he won't come back. He'll stay in whatever hole he crawled into."

_It's nice to know I'm missed at home_, Ezio thought, frowning. He knew that people still felt animosity toward him, but he had no idea how much the people despised him. A traitor? What lies had the Pazzi been spreading about him? Then again, maybe they didn't need to spread lies. He had killed Uberto Alberti in broad daylight, in front of dozens of people. And how many had borne witness to the _very_ public end Francesco de Pazzi had met?

No matter, that was no longer his concern. He had killed the head of the family as well as their only heir, and that would soon squelch any rumors they had spread. Leaning against the railing of the ship, Ezio sighed softly, hanging his head. He was exhausted, and he missed Leonardo. _It's only for a little while...I will see him soon enough. He will be happy to see me after so long away_, he thought hopefully. Whatever the case, his heart ached, and there was nothing that could ease that feeling. Especially not returning home, where he would have to encounter a whole host of painful memories. Not to mention the fact that the people who knew him from his childhood would recognize him if they saw his face. He would have to take extra precautions not to be noticed.

"Pullin' in fast, Cap'n!" a crew member called from in the prow of the boat. Ezio glanced toward the man, then out at the land that drifted past them. He willed the boat to slow, to snag a rock or for the wind to fail them. Anything to delay him. He still had a long ride from Ravenna, but it would never be long enough. Not when his journey ended in a home that no longer welcomed him.

"_Maestro_," the young woman said. She walked toward the artist in her living room with a tray brandishing wine and varying cheeses and breads, "would you like something to eat? You've been working very hard."

The blond male brushed some of his hair back from his face with a flick of his hand, smearing a streak of green paint just above his brow from the paintbrush he held. "Thank you, Ezmeralda. I appreciate it." He set his paints down and looked over the canvas. Ezmeralda, the daughter of a fairly well-known, but not wealthy noble, had commissioned him to paint a portrait of the view outside her living room window, and he thought it was coming along nicely. Unfortunately, he'd had to leave his studio unattended to do so. _I should hire an assistant_, he thought ruefully, remembering Salai storming out and proclaiming that he'd quit for...what was it, the third time now? Then again, who would steal anything in his studio? His paintings were in a room aside from the entrance, and the bits and bobbles that cluttered every surface in his home wouldn't interest anyone but himself, for their uses would be a mystery to anyone but their creator.

"_Maestro_?" Ezmeralda asked, the corners of her smile wilting. She was a slight woman with pretty brown hair and dark eyes. Her face was a nice shape, with a slightly pointed chin. A fine young lady.

"Forgive me, _Signorina_. I am simply lost in my thoughts," Leonardo said lightly, taking the offered glass of wine. He sipped it, savoring its taste. His eyes widened slightly, and he looked down at the dark drink. _This is the wine that Ezio favors_, he thought sadly. How he missed Ezio...his thoughts were consumed by the boy almost all hours of the day. He knew that Ezio had left with good reason, but he couldn't help but feel lonely and maybe even betrayed. The fear that haunted him most was that if Ezio met Cristina in Firenze, he might remember his feelings toward her and never return. Ezio had told him of the woman when they were younger, and even then, when their friendship had been so new, so tender, he had been unfairly jealous that Cristina should command so much of the fine young man's attention. That unending, logic-defying fear was what kept Leonardo awake at night, tossing and turning. "This wine is quite delicious. Thank you," he commented before sipping it again.

"It is no problem at all, _Maestro_," the young woman replied with a tight smile.

"Oh, please, _Signorina_, call me Leonardo. It seems much too formal for you to call me _Maestro_."

Ezmeralda nodded, but she seemed a bit uncomfortable about the prospect of calling him by his name. Nevertheless, Leonardo would insist.

Returning to his work, Leonardo finished the painting by the time the sun had nearly set. He signed the painting by way of candlelight and took his payment, smiling graciously to Ezmeralda and bowing to her before he left her home. He carried his easel and pack of art supplies with him back to town, and he had almost arrived home when a figure stepped out into the dark street a few yards in front of him. The light of the moon overhead cast shadows on the figure that made it difficult for Leonardo to discern any definite features, but it was most certainly male by the set of its shoulders and its girth.

"Good evening, _Signor_," Leonardo said pleasantly, coming to a stop so he wouldn't run into the man. He could see a bit clearer now. The man had dark hair and dark eyes, not uncommon to the people of Venezia. More uncommon, though, was the bulk of his muscles. The man's biceps were thicker than Leonardo's thigh, and his barrel-like chest had to be at least as thick around as an oak tree. There was a scimitar at his hip, gleaming menacingly in the moonlight. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, you can," the man said. His voice held a French accent and sounded gravelly and rough, as if the man had shouted too much recently. He might have been a ship worker, or a captain even. "You can come with me peacefully. But if you think struggling will help, I don't have a problem with that. It might be interesting to see how many of your bones I can break before you pass out."

Leonardo's heart sank and he swallowed hard. "Excuse me?" he forced past the lump in his throat. The art supplies in his arms suddenly felt like a mountain, and they tumbled to the ground. He bent to retrieve them as quickly as he could. When he stood, he saw the gargantuan man stalking toward him. He stepped back several paces and gasped when he bumped into something large, sturdy, and very alive. Whirling around, he looked up to see a man who towered over him; he was taller than the giant behind Leonardo, but no less muscular.

"Where 'ya goin' pretty boy?" the tall man snickered. He bared his black and yellow, rotting teeth in a grisly sneer. He reached out and Leonardo darted to the right, a grimace set on his face. He was afraid, sure, but his will to live far outweighed his body's admittedly overpowering flight response. His beret flew from the top of his head when he ran, and he looked back, yearning to retrieve it. It had been a gift Ezio had brought back from Milano. When he looked back, though, he saw that one of the men had disappeared. The other stood in the alley behind him, his hulking figure blocking the entrance. He looked back to where he was going, lengthening his stride. If he could get to the entrance to the alley before the other man got there—for that was surely where the titan was headed—he might have a chance.

Leonardo's chest heaved as he doubled his speed into a sprint. Tears streamed from his eyes as he crossed into the moonlight, out of the claustrophobic shadows of the walls. He turned the corner and smashed into a wall. He cried out in pain and surprise and fell onto his ass, grasping for his face. Blood poured from his nose in great gushes, and the pain brought fresh tears to his eyes. He held his sleeve to his nose, too dazed to remember how to handle a broken nose properly. Was it even broken? He didn't have the forethought to check.

Blinking, Leonardo looked up at what he had hit. It wasn't a wall, but a third man. He appeared more or less normal, with a healthy build of muscle that showed he worked for a living instead of the manufactured, enormous girth of the other two. "So sorry to inconvenience you," the man said, bending down to pick him up, casting aside the art supplies Leonardo clung to, "but I'm going to have to ask you to stop running. We're on a schedule."

Still confused from the pain of his possibly-broken nose, Leonardo was helpless to struggle when the man turned him around and put him in an arm lock. Leonardo was an artist by trade, but he studied a vast array of subjects and materials, many of which were forms of hand-to-hand combat. He'd never put them into practice, but he had the knowledge. He knew how to counter the arm lock, but he couldn't concentrate, couldn't see past the pain.

The two men caught up to them, then. One produced a length of thin rope and bound Leonardo's hands behind his back. The tallest man, the one with the rotting teeth, shoved him so hard he staggered and fell to the ground, grunting in pain when he landed. His cheek scraped the rough, uneven paving stones and he cried, "Somebody help me! Please!" He watched the lights in several windows flicker out as the people of Venezia turned the other cheek.

"He's a quick one," the shorter giant of the three commented. He hoisted Leonardo up onto his shoulder as if he weighed no more than a dry tree branch. And, perhaps, to the muscled man, he didn't weigh more than that.

"Please! Please release me! I haven't done anything to you! Please! I'm just an artist!" Leonardo pled, squirming violently on the man's shoulder. He remembered the dagger at his belt and wished he could reach it, but his wrists were bound tightly. He couldn't so much as part them.

"It's not what you've done to us, but what you've done to others," the normal-sized man said flippantly. "Knock him out, Alessandro."

"With pleasure, Agostino," the tall man said. He set Leonardo on his feet, drew his arm back and punched the artist in the face. White spots blossomed in Leonardo's vision and he crumpled to the ground, the white surrendering to darkness.

Ezio waited for the stream of citizens to trickle into the city and pulled his horse to the side. He dismounted, ignoring his aching legs and handed the reins to a young stable boy. He'd ridden the horse hard, pushing them both to their limits. The animal would need to be watered and brushed down and he didn't have the time or patience to care for it. He would find another in the city.

"_Grazie_," the assassin said, slipping the boy a florin. He flashed forged papers at the bored-looking city guards that stood at the gates to the city and followed a troop of silk traders. As he looked around, his heart ached with nostalgia. Years ago, before his world imploded, he and Federico had often come here to watch the ebb and flow of the crowds, to watch the caravans come and go with the seasons. How many hours had they spent sitting here chatting aimlessly while they could have been doing something useful? All that time, wasted. Neither of them had realized how short their time together really was. But it was too late to take it back now.

Maneuvering through the crowds, Ezio gazed around at the familiar architecture. He avoided the plaza where the gallows were located and made his way toward his family's estate. The apartments were surrounded by guards who prowled around the building as well as on the roof, crossbows at the ready. Ezio ducked behind a stack of crates and closed his eyes, mastering his breath. Getting excited would do him no good. Someday, he would reclaim his family's palazzo.

Pulling his cowl up, Ezio walked to the nearest stables. Apparently, during his absence, horses had been allowed in the common districts for ease of transport. He wished that had been instated when he was younger—how many more antics could he and his brother have gotten away with if they'd had horses waiting for them? The escape had always been the difficult part, after all.

Smiling at the memories and shaking his head in remorse that he and his brother could never make more, he paid for another horse and swung up onto it, trotting down back alleys and side streets. He lowered his gaze, pulling his cowl down a little further when a troop of guards rode past, looking snobbish and regal as always.

"Mama! Mama, look! Look at the horsies!" a small girl squealed. "Mama, can I ride a horsy?" The girl's mother came to her side, starting to move her out of the way. Ezio pulled his horse to a stop and smiled at the woman. Her daughter darted forward, eager as she stretched her little hands up and stroked the obedient horse's muzzle. "_Grazie, Messer!_" she chirped when he bowed his head and started forward again.

"_Madonna_," Ezio said with a tilt of his head. He admired the flow of Firenze's people for a moment longer, then continued on his way. He knew exactly where he needed to go, who he needed to see. If anyone knew anything about his target, it would be the man who had a million ears, a million eyes, and a million whispered voices. Ezio could only hope that he was still in town; he'd heard rumors that La Volpe was in Firenze, but he might have returned to Roma in the time it had taken Ezio to travel from Venezia. If that was the case, Ezio would have to find another information source, not an easy task when half of Firenze—no, probably a lot more than half—wanted his head on a pike.

He gave his horse to a young stable boy and walked up to the building he hoped housed the most notorious, but also least known thief in all of Italia. Knocking thrice upon the door, he waited patiently.

"You should not be here," a voice called from the other side of the wooden door. It sounded bored, disinterested.

"You haven't even seen who is at your door," Ezio pointed out, grimacing at the insult.

"I don't need to. I know for a fact that you should not be here. I did not request your presence, therefore, you should not be here. Go away."

Ezio rolled his eyes. "Volpe, it's me, Ezio. Open the door."

The lock slid open with a loud _clunk_, and the door opened, revealing La Volpe. His eyes were suspicious as he looked the hooded figure over, and then he opened his door wider. "I was told you were dead," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Apparently the people you speak to are liars," Ezio said, entering the house. It was dimly lit, and scantily furnished, with only a table, a couple chairs, and a couch seated far back in the room. It was obviously a rented room, but one that there would be no record of. Volpe was smart. Very smart. Which made the fact that he hadn't known Ezio was coming all the more vexing. Ezio could see the anger in the fox's eyes, but he wouldn't point it out. Not if he wanted to walk out of there in one piece.

"An accusation I agree with completely," La Volpe said, smirking as he closed and locked the door behind them. "Why are you here?"

"I need information," Ezio said. "You are the best source in Firenze."

"Oh, how you flatter me," La Volpe said blandly. "On whom do you need this information?"

"One they call, The Spaniard," Ezio replied. "I hear he is coming to Firenze fairly soon, and I want to know more about him before he arrives."

Volpe paused in his stride before he continued the pace he had taken up, slowly stalking across the room, his hands clasped behind his back. "The Spaniard? Now why would you want to know about _him_?" he asked slowly, his voice an inquisitive drawl.

Ezio eyed the thief and frowned. "I believe he had something to do with my family's murder."

"And if such accusation turns out to be true? What then? Will you bring him to justice?"

"If it comes to that, yes."

Volpe shook his head, clucking his tongue. "Ezio, Ezio. You are a man, not a boy, yet you continue to think like one." He turned keen eyes on the younger man, his gaze bearing down on him with the weight of experience that Ezio could only hope to attain. "The Spaniard is the patriarch of the most powerful and influential family in all of Roma. He has his chubby little fingers in every pie you could possibly imagine." He shook his head and waved his hand in the air as if to dismiss the issue. "He is not to be touched. Not yet, at least."

Ezio's frown deepened into a grimace. "What if he did have something to do with my family's death? If I don't strike when I can, I may not get another chance. Volpe, this is important!"

"Listen to me!" Volpe hissed, his arm sweeping his cloak back. "I will not have you toiling in affairs which you know nothing about! If you kill The Spaniard, all of Roma could descend into chaos. The Templars could use just such a situation to their advantage. They have great influence in Roma." Breathing deeply, the thief calmed himself. He looked away, and when he spoke, his voice was softer, almost regretful. "We are losing this fight, Ezio. The Templars gain more ground every day." He turned his eyes to Ezio once more. "Get out while you can. It is a dangerous battle we wage; you don't want to end up like your father. He wasted his life in this fight..."

Ezio's eyes narrowed. "It was a fight well fought if my mother and sister can live without the fear of a knife in their backs."

"That is true, but are you willing to sacrifice yourself for that goal?"

Without hesitating, Ezio replied gravely, "_Si_."

Volpe looked Ezio up and down, summing him up as a whole, it seemed, with just one glance. A small smile spread on his lips. "You are so like your father, Ezio..."

"So I have heard."

With a small laugh, Volpe clasped his hand on the assassin's shoulder. "I have yet to decide if that is a good thing."

Leonardo jerked awake. His eyes opened, and he squinted in the darkness. His heart kicked up a maddening rhythm when he realized he couldn't see and he let out a fearful little cry. It echoed pitifully against the walls around him, but it didn't travel far. The room wasn't large, maybe ten or fifteen paces across. He could hear the steady drip of a leak in the ceiling far above his head. The smell of cold and algae made him shudder. Someone had removed his shirt and the stone that pressed against his bare back was as freezing as the air around him. The cold was oppressive, sinking into his muscles and bones, making them ache.

"Hello?" he croaked in a shaky voice. He sounded so weak, so pitiful...How long had he been down there? Long enough that his stomach growled painfully and he longed to relieve himself. His shoulders ached and he looked around again, desperate to gain some kind of understanding of where he was. There was no light by which to see and that alone nearly made Leonardo panic, but he closed his eyes and breathed, containing his fear with an iron fist. He'd been in worse situations before, right? Well, no. Not really. Regardless, he could handle this. It was just dark, no one was hurting him. Not yet, anyway. His shoulders ached from hanging from his wrists for God-knew-how-long, but the cold staved off most of the pain.

"Somebody, please, answer me," he called, taking comfort in hearing his own voice.

Closing his eyes, Leonardo hung his head. He cried freely, unable to hold back his sobs. This was exactly what he had feared would happen. If only Ezio had listened to him! Why hadn't he been more firm with Ezio? The assassin was a young, foolhardy man, incapable of understanding the consequences of his actions. It was his fault Leonardo was here.

Leonardo choked back a wail. The guilt of his thoughts silenced him, dried his eyes and sobered him. How dare he blame Ezio for this? This wasn't either of their faults, it was the fault of the men who had taken him, who had deemed themselves so important as to play God.

"So you're finally awake?" The voice was familiar, though it echoed strangely against the walls.

Leonardo cleared his throat. "You're Alessandro...right?" he croaked. He heard the sound of creaking leather as the tall man moved. The artist gasped and turned his face away from the light that suddenly flared to life, shuddering from the pain. He blinked rapidly, keeping his eyes averted.

"Yeah. What's your point?" the burly man growled.

Point? What point? Did he even have a point? "I was only asking," he said solemnly, looking down at the stone floor. In the flickering light of the torch, Leonardo could see now that he was in a circular room that looked like little more than a dungeon. The ceiling was so high that even the torchlight couldn't reach the stones above, but from somewhere high up in the ceiling, water trickled down, streaking the walls with pale green slime. There were iron circlets set into the walls every few feet, showing where prisoners could be strung, much like he was now.

"You make me sick," Alessandro spat, his face drawn into a scowl.

"_Prego_?" Leonardo asked, frowning. "I don't understand."

"You and your kind. You disgust me. You befoul our glorious Lord's very existence with your—"

"That's enough," another voice said, echoing from the vague shape of a doorway. The torch didn't quite penetrate the darkness that far away, but new light leaked into the cavern as a man stepped forward brandishing a second torch. It was the man from before, the one who had ordered that he be knocked unconscious. "You are being rude to our guest, Alessandro. Return to your quarters and send the cook to us with some food. Dear Leonardo must be hungry."

"_Si, Maestro_ Agostino," Alessandro said, giving a short bow.

Once he was gone, the remaining man turned to look at Leonardo. "You'll have to forgive Alessandro. I have been trying to teach him manners for quite some time, but he came from a small life as a petty farm boy, no proper education at all. I have taught him everything he knows." He placed the torch in a sconce on the wall and strode forward. "My name is Agostino, by the way. In case you didn't catch it before."

"_Messer_, I really do not understand why I am here," Leonardo protested weakly. He willed his voice to sound stronger, to support the anger he felt, his indignation at being abducted. But all he felt was fear. Fear, and despair, and the edge of hysteria he had become all too familiar with when he'd been arrested not so long ago. He couldn't go back to that cell, to those terrible words and the prospect of being hanged for a crime he hadn't even committed. "Please, release me. I swear I won't tell anyone of this place...or of what you and your friends have done."

Agostino chuckled. "I wish I could, Leonardo. From what I've heard, you are truly brilliant in everything you do. But your sins cannot be overlooked. You must pay for what you have done."

Leonardo's eyes narrowed in anger. "What sins?" he demanded.

"Really, Leonardo. I know for a fact you're not that daft." The man sat on the single square table that took up a quarter of the room. "Alright, I'll humor you. Is there anything, anything at all that you have done in the last few days with anyone in particular that you know you shouldn't have?"

One such action did, in fact, come to mind, but there was no way Leonardo was going to tell Agostino about that.

"Remember," Agostino said, cutting into Leonardo's thoughts, "lying is a sin too."

Sins...so whoever these people were, they were religious zealots. Perfect.

"I can think of a few things...none of them concerning you," Leonardo said.

"They don't concern me. Only one does. And I happen to know that it involved a certain young man. What was his name? Flavio? Alonzo? Eduardo? No...I know his name." The man leaned forward and face twisted into an ugly expression of rage. "Ezio Auditore da Firenze."

Leonardo's lip curled in disgust even as his heart hammered in fear. "This has _nothing_ to do with him," he sneered, feigning bravery. "Leave him out of it."

"It has everything to do with him. You see, if he hadn't been the focus of your adoration, we would have simply killed you. But no. Now, this has become much more interesting."

"How so?" Leonardo demanded.

"My scouts report that Ezio has developed feelings for you. He is attached to you. When he finds you are missing, I'm willing to bet he'll come looking for you. And as soon as the rat pokes his heat out of his bolt-hole...well," Agostino gripped the pommel of the captain's sword at his belt, "we'll be ready."

"To what end?" Leonardo asked.

"How much do you think the Pazzi family would pay to have the boy who murdered Francesco and Pieri in their custody?"

Anger swelled in Leonardo's chest and he spat at Agostino. "This is about money? You would have him killed for money!" He tried to grab the manacles that chained his wrists, but he couldn't feel his hands. As far as his body was concerned, anything below his elbows no longer existed. "Release me!"

Agostino wiped the spit from his cheek and mouth, a distasteful expression on his face. "I can't do that. Once we have our prize, you'll just be an accessory. We won't need you anymore."

The man stood and turned for the door. Leonardo needed to stall for time, needed to get more information. If he could escape, he could tell the authorities, he could save Ezio. "Who is this 'we?'" he asked quickly. "You refer to you and your companions as 'we.' Are you a group? What are you?"

Agostino turned back. "We are _I Cavalieri__Nascosti__Della Giustizia_, the Hidden Kights of Righteousness. I'm sure you have heard of the Knights of Templar? We are a faction of them, though we fight for a much less important cause. We are an underground group that works to free the cities of Italia from the scourge that lurk in the shadows. We work to rid Italia of people like you and the Auditore family." Well, at least their name was modest.

One more insult at Ezio's expense, and Leonardo was going to...going to what? Spit on him again? Leonardo already felt horrible for having done it once. What kind of man spits on another? It was dishonorable. "He hasn't done anything," he said weakly, knowing he'd lost the argument.

"You know exactly what you did. Your _relationship_ with the Auditore boy goes against the laws of nature, and you are now to be punished for your crimes. But don't worry. I will make your death a swift one." He paused for a moment, examined Leonardo with a studious gaze, then said softly, "I'll leave you to your thoughts." He left the room then, closing the heavy wooden door behind him and leaving Leonardo alone in the darkness again with his grief.


	4. No Rest for the Wicked

Drumming his fingers on the railing of the ship, Ezio waited impatiently as they pulled into the harbor. He couldn't wait to leave the ship, to set foot on solid ground again. The return voyage had been much worse as he'd contracted some kind of stomach illness. Trapped on a ship with two hundred other people with your head and rear in buckets was not an ideal situation.

Ezio shoved through the crowd, anticipation and excitement overwhelming his need for anonymity. A few protested being pushed, but they were jostled worse by the flood of people galloping down the ramp and into the streets. As soon as Ezio's boot touched the ground, chills shot up his spine, shivering over his shoulders and cresting on the back of his neck. Something was horribly wrong.

Running as fast as his legs could carry him, Ezio navigated the maze of Venezia. It only took him a few blocks to realize he was horribly lost and decide it would be best to travel on the rooftops. At least then he could truly marvel at the sloppiness of the madman who had designed the layout of these streets and alleys. With a sigh of frustration, Ezio leapt onto a crate and flung himself at a flagpole, swinging up onto a wooden beam to jump onto the nearest roof. He almost didn't make it and he caught himself with two hands and a shin on the corner of the terracotta. Cursing to relieve pain had never been a favorite tactic of his, but it worked remarkably well then.

Dread chased chilly drops of sweat down Ezio's brow, made his throat constrict until he was gasping for breath, filled his veins with lead until he had to use all of his strength to jump two-foot gaps and then to even put one foot in front of the other. When he finally reached the right courtyard, Ezio dropped down off the roof and crumpled against the rough wall, leaning heavily against the stones as his chest heaved.

When his pulse calmed and his lungs no longer rattled with effort, Ezio stepped into the shade of the doorway and knocked, bouncing his weight between his feet.

"Leonardo!" he called, knocking again. "Leonardo, open the door!" There was no answer. He opened the door and charged into the studio, blinking rapidly so his eyes would adjust to the gloom. "Leonardo!" The shutters were drawn tight and every surface was covered in a thin layer of dust—the furniture, the floor, even the long-dead embers in the hearth were white with it.

Ezio charged up the stairs and flung open the door to Leonardo's bedroom. He moved to the desk in the corner where Leonardo often spent his nights scribbling nonsensical notes and brilliantly formed sketches. A folded piece of paper lay under the film of dust.

"If you want to see your lover again," Ezio read aloud, "come to the _Scuola Grande di San Marco_ at midnight. Someone will be waiting to escort you. If you kill him, you will never find your precious artist." He paused, his mouth twisting sourly. "Come alone." Ezio read the letter three more times, more disbelieving of the words each time. This was a trick, a prank Leonardo was pulling as revenge for being late. He only had to explain that the ships had been delayed by a storm and all would be well. Leonardo would come out of his hiding place and shout, "Surprise!" and they would hug, and laugh, and everything would be alright. Tears stung his eyes even as he begged these thoughts to be true. He looked down at the parchment he held and read the words again. The handwriting was not that of an artist, short and scrunched rather than Leonardo's tight, flowing scrawl. "What have I gotten you into?" he whispered, stuffing the paper into his pocket. His first instinct was to meet the contact and kill the bastard right there and then, but he knew that would be a mistake. He didn't know who these people were or what they wanted, or if this was even a real threat. What if it truly was a prank? A joke gone wrong, perhaps? Ezio didn't know the people Leonardo befriended, maybe they were tricking another group of friends into believing they had taken Leonardo as revenge for some slight? Yes, and perhaps men could fly. Ezio closed his eyes and mastered is breath, asserting his mind over the panic that laced his blood, his body, his very soul. Leonardo could be in danger, and he was probably the only one who knew. He could only hope the artist hadn't been injured. Though he could feel his fury boiling just beneath the surface of his control, Ezio made his way to the _Scuola Grande di San Marco_ district. Avoiding the openness of the square, he scaled a tall tower and sat on the roofing tiles, watching the comings and goings of the people in the courtyard below. His keen eyes scanned every face, searched for weapons and shifting gazes, noted every pickpocket and cutpurse before they even had a target in sight. He continued this practice until the sun set and the moon took its place. Cold, cramped and hungry though he was, Ezio waited until the crowds thinned before he descended the tower and strode into the square. The heat of the day had warmed the ground, allowing the permanent stench of rotting fish to seep out of the paving stones and hang heavily in the air. It choked Ezio, who had become accustomed to the sweeter—but no less offensive—smells of horse manure, waste and unwashed humans. Waiting there in the open was more nerve-wracking than the idea of having to fight the massive man that stepped out of the shadows. He was enormous—the biggest man Ezio had ever seen. _Slow, slight limp in left step, probably an old injury that never healed properly_, he analyzed. This was automatic for him, dissect a threat until it no longer posed an issue. How would he react if this man charged him? He'd probably run as fast as he could in the other direction. Big men were slower, but they also took a hell of a lot more punishment before they fell. This was one fight Ezio doubted he could win. "You're the escort?" Ezio asked warily, eyeing the large man. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword suggestively. The man's mouth turned up in an ugly sneer. "I am. Follow me. Keep your blades to yourself. You'll never find him without my help." Ezio narrowed his eyes at the stranger. "Just take me to Leonardo," he said. Unhappily, Ezio followed the tall man to a sewage entrance. The man lifted the iron cap to the manhole, which would have taken at least two normal-sized people to do, and set it aside. "You first," the man growled. He hesitated, but at the man's insistence, Ezio crawled down into the hole, his eyes smarting at the stench of the sewage. He stepped down on the slimy floor and looked up, waiting for the man to follow. Once they both stood on the ground, Ezio allowed the man to take the lead. The tunnels were pitch black and Ezio had to trail a hand along the slick, slime-covered wall to keep his balance. He was surprised the contact was able to navigate this maze of tunnels. Despite his best efforts, Ezio lost track of where they were in minutes. "How much farther?" Ezio asked, his eyes shifting uselessly from side to side. "Not far," the man replied. There was a loud crash up ahead, the sound echoing loudly against the cold stone walls. "Something's wrong," the man said. The sound of rasping steel rang on the air and Ezio staggered backward, groping for his own sword. Once he'd drawn it, he listened intently, tracking the behemoth farther down the tunnel. He wasn't going to attack Ezio—maybe something really was wrong. "Alessandro!" the stocky, muscular man shouted, running toward a faint light. He opened a door and hissed in pain, throwing his arm up in front of his eyes. The candle flickered and dimmed as the enormous man jogged past it, almost squelching the light with the breeze that followed in his wake. Ezio took the brief distraction to look around. They were in a cramped tunnel. It could be no more than ten paces wide, hardly enough room to properly wield a sword. He sheathed his blade and instead drew a knife the length of his forearm. It gave him more reach than the stiletto dagger at his belt and more maneuverability than his short sword. Throwing knives were completely out of the question and his crossbow would be more likely to get him killed than either of the two other men. While Ezio watched, his guide knelt beside a tall, haggard man who leaned against one of the algae-covered walls, his hand covering a bloody stain on his dirty shirt. He was just as muscular as the first man, though far uglier. "Frederic," the injured man wheezed. "Alessandro, what happened?" Frederic demanded. Injured though he was, the taller of the two still looked intimidating. He blinked slowly and shook his head. "Went into the chamber to check on him...hit me with something," he panted. "Agostino was already down...we fought, but he sucker punched me and stabbed me. Think he killed Agostino, strung him up in the chains. The bastard even gagged him." Ezio grimaced as he listened, trying to imagine the scenario. Though he'd never seen Leonardo in a fight, Ezio had reason to believe the practicing pacifist, vegetarian and untested blade-fighter would never have survived an encounter with this titan. And killing a man? Leonardo would rather pluck out his own eyes. "One of you go check," Ezio said, watching the darkness in the open doorway. He glanced at the flickering candle, sensing a trap. Closed quarters, limited visibility, unfamiliar terrain, this had all the dressings of an ambush. "Hell no, I've got to get him to a healer," Frederic said, helping the taller man to his feet. Ezio watched, bewildered that the two actually hobbled out of the tunnel together, each of their massive shoulders brushing one of the walls. "_Idioti_," he muttered, turning to face the doorway again. He took a deep breath and started forward, holding his blade out at his side and slightly in front of him. A loose grip ensured he wouldn't stab himself if he was rushed, but it would be handy should he need it quickly. Just before he reached the doorway, the candle flickered violently and died in the cold, mildew-scented breath of the tunnel. Chains rattled in the utter darkness, and a muffled, _hmph_ came from the opposite wall. He turned toward the sound and adjusted his grip on his knife. The rage that had lain dormant in him sprang to the surface, lighting a fire in his limbs and setting him on the balls of his feet. "You kidnapped my friend," he growled, striding toward the chained man, "you lured me here into the bowels of this putrid city, and now you've taken him from me again. _Where is he_?" Agostino—that was his name, right?—whimpered, his pleas louder now, though still muffled by the gag Leonardo had stuffed in his mouth. He was nearly shouting at Ezio. The desperation in the man's voice ignited the anger in the assassin's heart, drew a snarl from his lips. "Tell me!" he roared, groping in the darkness. He found the man's throat and choked him, resting his blade against the bastard's abdomen. He felt skin part under the razor edge of the metal and listened to Agostino's cries of pain. His fingers released the man's throat and he slapped him clumsily, unable to judge distances in the dark. He reached out and gripped the man's long hair with the hand that held the blade, using his free hand to remove the gag. "Speak, you filth." As soon as Ezio removed the gag, the man stumbled over a torrent of words, and the voice the assassin heard froze the breath in his lungs. Leonardo panted, "God, please no, Ezio! Ezio, turn around! He's right behind you!" Many things happened in an instant and Ezio had less time than that to react. Light roared into existence, someone shouted a wordless cry, steel screeched as sparks flew from the wall where vicious steel scored bare stone and someone began weeping. Ezio skipped out of the way of the sword just as it flashed down beside him, biting into the stones at their feet. He lowered his cowl, shielding his eyes from the intense light as they adjusted, and watched his attacker's feet, anticipating movements in his steps. "Get him!" Frederic shouted from out in the hallway. He charged into the room, swinging a scimitar right toward Ezio. Its tip caught in the stone wall and he stared at it, fighting to pull it free. While he struggled, Ezio darted forward and ducked under a soaring punch that would have caved his skull in had it landed. Alessandro stood just inside the doorway, his ugly, scarred mouth twisted into a ghoulish grin. He drew his arm back to swing again and, in a fit of desperation, Ezio tried to stab the taller man. His arm was knocked aside by Frederic, who apparently cared enough about his counterpart to protect him from the sting of a blade. Staggering from the block, Ezio retreated a few steps, narrowing his eyes in the light. There was a third man standing in the shadows. Ezio couldn't see him, couldn't take the time to try and focus on him. Alessandro pulled Frederic's scimitar from the wall and turned toward Ezio, his lip curling back from filthy teeth. They circled each other in the room, until Ezio was in front of Leonardo. He saw bright red out of the corner of his eye but refused to look at the artist, fearing what he had done. "The pussy boy cannot fight, Alessandro," Frederic sneered. "This should be easy." The large man lunged with a new, shorter blade. It was longer than Ezio's, but rusted and of poor quality. The assassin parried the blow, bringing his arm up to absorb some of the blow with the metal bracer on his forearm. It had saved him on more than one occasion, and it followed through, letting the blade cut through the leather that covered the metal, but stopping the blade before it penetrated his flesh. A blow like that should have cleaved through regular steel, but with the advancements Leonardo had made with the Codex pages Ezio found, this metal held up just fine. Frederic reeled back, unprepared for such a strong counter-attack, and left his side wide open. Ezio ducked to the side, grabbed the man's wrist, darted under it and slammed the heel of his hand into Frederic's elbow. The monster howled in pain and jerked away, retreating to the shadows as his friend stepped up to take his place. Ezio sidestepped away as quickly as he had come forward, knowing a move like that would put him squarely in front of the enemy and facing the wrong way. "Don't just stand there!" Frederic snarled. "Kill him!" Ezio glanced at the rounded walls of the cavern they were in. Wider than the hall, but not by much. He threw his dagger aside and drew his short sword, holding the hand-and-a-half blade in experienced hands. Scimitars were good for fighting from horseback, but not much else. The weapon hadn't even been Alessandro's to begin with, what were the chances the brute knew how to actually use it? Then again, who needed skill when you had enough muscle to hack whatever was in your way to mincemeat without breaking a sweat? Licking his lips, Ezio wiggled the fingers of his right hand, twisting his wrist a little to feign an injury. Alessandro noticed and charged, slicing the blade through the air toward Ezio's right arm. The assassin dodged aside, sweeping his own blade down in an expert slice. They came to a stop, Alessandro facing the wall, Ezio standing behind him. They both watched the upper two-thirds of the scimitar skitter to a halt on the stones. Snarling, Alessandro threw the useless blade aside and drew a long dagger. He stepped forward, thrusting the dagger at Ezio. The assassin smacked it away with the flat of his blade and growled, "Enough of this!" Stepping into the offensive, Ezio rained blows down on Alessandro, slicing small cuts and deep stab wounds where the big man's dagger didn't make it in time. Regardless of how big the opponent, cut it in enough places, and it will bleed to death. Alessandro stepped forward and thrust his arm out, but it didn't follow his command. It convulsed and then hung uselessly at his side when Ezio sliced the tendons in his shoulder. With a snarl of rage and pain, Ezio swung his sword viciously, baring his teeth with the effort. The tip of the blade sliced into the big man's abdomen, followed by another seven inches of metal. The edge sliced through tissue, muscle and fat like a hot knife through butter, and as the blade cleared Alessandro's gut, it wrenched out of Ezio's hands, following its momentum right across the room. Ezio stood there panting, watching Alessandro process what had just happened. The man's enormous hands pressed to his belly where silvery-gray tissue bulged and spilled out onto the stone floor. He picked his organs up as he bled, trying to shove them back into his body where they belonged. His lips trembled as he muttered, "Not right, 's not right, they don't go there, Da, they don't go there," over and over. His face turned ashen and he reached for a length of intestine even as he fell to his side. Ezio turned to deal with Frederic when agony sliced into his shoulder. He twisted like a cat, lunging with his spring-bladed dagger as fire burned down his arm. The hidden blade caught Frederic in his chest, puncturing deep into the man's body. Frederic blinked down at the blade and stepped back, watching it slide out. He grinned and suddenly looked very childish. "So that's wha' it's like," he said, adopting a heavier accent than he'd had before. "Always wondered wha' they felt righ' a'fore." Blood poured from the wound and the big man fell to his knees, sitting back hard on his rear. Ezio must have nicked an artery. He'd never seen so much blood pool so quickly. Reaching up, Ezio tried to pull the blade from his shoulder. He winced as he gripped the handle and yanked. He screamed through gritted teeth and sagged against the wall closest to him. The blade was sunk right into the bone. It wasn't going anywhere, and his arm was now useless to him. "Surrender, or I kill the boy," a new voice hissed. Ezio looked over to see a man about his own size standing next to Leonardo, a mean, twisted-looking dagger pressed to the artist's chest. It drew new blood at the tip where it cut his flesh, but that was nothing compared to the smeared blood on Leonardo's abdomen. The cut there was deep enough to split the flesh open, enough to have reduced Leonardo to tears, enough to make Ezio want to retch. "Ezio," Leonardo gasped. His eyes were wild with pain and fear, glazed with the same. "Don't you do it. Don't! He'll g-give you to Alberti's men. They'll..." He jerked his head to the side when the man—presumably the real Agostino—pressed the knife harder into his flesh. "They'll kill you, Ezio. Don't you _dare_ be a hero." Ezio glanced from Agostino to Leonardo and back. There were no good options here. Retreat and that knife was going to open Leonardo from ear to ear, attack and the same would happen. Do nothing? Probably the same. Frustration blew on the embers of his fury and he bared his teeth in a defiant sneer. "_Vaffanculo, figlio di puttana,_" he snarled at Agostino. He pulled a throwing knife from the belt at his waist, measuring the distance in the torchlight that flickered from the sconce near the door. "Release him," he growled, his voice tight with anger and pain. "I don't think so," Agostino said, readjusting his hold on his dagger. "I should have known better than to bring those two into this. They were fools. It's a shame that they had to die. They were two of my favorites." "I will not say again," Ezio snapped. "Release him!" Agostino chuckled and shook his head. "You truly are dense." "Insult me all you want, just let—!" "Ezio, get the _fuck_ out of here!" Leonardo shouted, his voice cracking. He met Ezio's gaze and held it as he continued in a trembling voice, "I'm not important enough for you to throw your life away." The ground tilted under Ezio's feet and he blinked a few times, willing his devastation away. How could Leonardo think like that? How could he _say_ something like that? Pain, and shock, and anger shook Ezio to his core and he shook his head, trying to find his voice. When he found it, it was small and weak. "You don't mean that, Leonardo. Stop talking." He looked back to Agostino. "Let's finish this now," Agostino said with a grin. "Whoever wins our little duel will take Leonardo as his prize." The man's dark eyes gleamed and he smirked. "The loser will die." Ezio nodded gravely and backed away a step, letting Agostino claim a few paces. The man drew his sword—a handsome blade with a keen edge—and had just raised it to level when he heard a whistle and his head jerked back. Panting in pain, Ezio watched as Agostino's brows knitted together in confusion. The dark-haired man dropped to his knees and reached up, touching the thin, weighted handle of the throwing knife that now rested between his eyes. He pulled his fingers back, looked at the blood that shone in the torchlight, and then fell onto his side. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?" Ezio demanded, looking up at Leonardo. A small smile spread on his friend's lips, relief in his voice. "I was always a rebellious child," he panted. He grimaced, and his abdomen convulsed, making him cry out in pain. "Help me out of these shackles. I know the way out." "How do you know that?" Ezio asked as he shambled forward, avoiding the spreading pools of blood. He reached down and took a ring of keys from Agostino's belt, using them to open the shackles. He staggered under the artist's slight weight and grunted in pain as he twisted so they would hit the ground easier. It still hurt, but the pain would fade. "Frederic and Alessandro had big mouths," Leonardo panted, wincing. They helped each other into sitting positions so that Leonardo could examine the knife in Ezio's shoulder. "I have to remove it," he said. "It's going to hurt—a lot." Gritting his teeth, Ezio hung his head. "Just do it." Leonardo tried to shake some life back into his hands, but it was useless. He leaned forward and gripped the leather binding on the handle with his teeth, holding onto it as tightly as he could with one hand. He gave a sharp yank and it pulled free, drawing a short cry of pain from the assassin. He struggled to his feet, wishing he could lift his arms again so they would stop hurting. His arms had nearly been wrenched out of their sockets as he hung there, and having them hang uselessly at his sides was agonizing now. Not to mention the wound on his abdomen. And the wounds on his neck...and his chest. Suffice to say he was one big wound. "We have to get out of here," Leonardo said, swaying slightly on his feet. He waited for Ezio to stand and leaned on the assassin, guiding them through the darkness. It must have taken them at least an hour to find the exit, likely more. The sun had risen above the horizon by the time they arrived back at Leonardo's studio, and Ezio sank onto a stool bench hanging his head as exhaustion swamped him. "I'm sorry," he said numbly. "For what?" Leonardo asked, moving stiffly to sit beside the assassin. "You saved me, in case you forgot already." "But I hurt you," Ezio said, looking up at the artist. He shook his head, his face screwing up in anguish. "I-I cut you. I choked you! I could have killed you, Leonardo!" "But you didn't," the artist pointed out. He smiled faintly and limped to a cupboard, removing a small kit which held medical supplies. He patched Ezio's shoulder and then his own wounds, taking the time to sew the deepest parts of the puckering wounds shut. "Come on. Let's go to bed." He helped Ezio stand and walked up the stairs with him, leading the assassin who had nearly killed him mere hours before to his bed again. They lay beside each other, Ezio holding Leonardo, crying silently as he imagined what could have happened. "Don't ever leave me again," the artist said softly. "I won't," Ezio promised. He used a gentle hand to turn Leonardo's face and kissed him softly, though it grew into more. The kiss was not lustful, but neither was it chaste. It carried the heat of Ezio's anger, of his love, of his desire to protect this last link to the innocence of his past. He kissed this man, this brilliant artist, engineer, medical student, whatever he was, and he finally felt all of the love, comfort and warmth he had longed for in the partners of his past. He kissed Leonardo da Vinci on the eve of his lowest hour and he felt accepted, forgiven. Loved. 


	5. Revenge

"Ezio, you must sit still," Leonardo scolded.

"If you expect me to be still, you'd best hurry up," Ezio growled. "This costume is itchy!"

The artist had coerced him into wearing a ridiculous captain's uniform. If any captain in the history of captains had ever worn this uniform, it was no wonder he hadn't been heard of. His crew would likely have thrown him overboard as soon as he walked on deck. He wouldn't have minded the blue waistcoat or the brown leather pants; nor would he have minded the scarlet, frilled shirt beneath the petticoat or the uncomfortable, shiny black shoes. What tipped the scale was the accursed hat that sat atop his head and its horrid red feather, which soared into the air and curled around the lip of the hat into Ezio's nose.

"Hush. You spend days in your scratchy wool robes in the heat of the summer and you complain about a costume?" Leonardo rolled his eyes as he stroked the canvas with his brush expertly, his sharp blue eyes taking in every detail.

"The feather is what bothers me," Ezio muttered, blowing it out of his face again. He screwed up his face, but kept looking straight ahead, trying to appear regal.

Leonardo started choking and Ezio turned to look at him, his expression etched with worry. "Leonardo?" he asked, peering around the canvas. His eyes widened when he saw the artist laughing at him. No, not laughing, _giggling!_ He was positively giddy! "What are you laughing at?" he demanded indignantly.

"You look constipated," Leonardo laughed. He sobered, wiping at his eyes as he set his paints aside. "Alright, let's see what we can do here." He stepped toward his friend, assessing the rumpled assassin. "I have an idea." He disappeared from the room for a moment and then returned carrying another canvas, replacing the work in progress.

"What are you doing?" Ezio asked suspiciously as Leonardo walked toward him. He didn't see any other items of ridiculous clothing, but he didn't trust the artist not to pull something out of his sleeve.

"Just trust me, alright? Come down off the stool."

Still wary, though eager to find out where this was headed, Ezio slipped off the stool and strode toward Leonardo's bed. He removed the hat, tossing it spitefully onto the floor. He felt a hand on his arm and turned to face his friend, cocking his head to the side. Before he could ask what Leonardo was up to, he found himself suddenly lacking a coat. Leonardo undressed him, untying laces and plucking at knots with lithe fingers. It seemed like seconds had passed before Ezio stood in the middle of the room suddenly naked and feeling vulnerable.

He glanced toward the window, which was shuttered as always when he visited, and cleared his throat. "What is this?" he asked.

"A portrait," Leonardo said, reaching up to fuss with Ezio's hair.

"I thought this painting was a commission!" Ezio stammered. "I refuse to be painted naked. Especially if others will see it!"

"Stop worrying, Ezio," Leonardo said, batting the protesting assassin's hands away from his head. "This will be going in my private gallary. Possibly right in this very room somewhere."

Leonardo pushed Ezio back onto the bed and arranged his limbs into some sort of order. He draped a thin red blanket over the assassin's toned body so that it hid little and left even less to the imagination. He propped Ezio's head on his right hand and draped the younger man's arm across his stomach in a languid, careless fashion. Using expert hands, he teased a few strands of hair out of Ezio's ribbon and let them hang in the assassin's face. Once again, tickling his nose.

He stepped back to examine his work and pursed his lips unhappily. Reaching behind Ezio's head, he removed the ribbon from the assassin's hair. "Open," he said, brushing his fingertips against the other's lips.

Ezio cocked a brow, but obeyed, opening his mouth so Leonardo could place the ribbon between his teeth. He had to admit, this was far preferable to his earlier position, but he didn't like lying naked in the middle of a room with his weapons on another floor. It made him nervous, despite having secured the house before so much as looking at Leonardo.

"Much better," his partner sighed, returning to his paints. He stirred a few and then turned to study Ezio, wetting the canvas with the delicious scene he had created. He hardly looked at the canvas, instead preferring to study the assassin in his bed. His brush moved independently of his body, an extension of his hand while remaining alien to his mind. It painted what his eyes saw with no intrusions or obstructions in between. Every soft line, every hard angle, every supple curve, he captured everything on the canvas, breathing life into blank space. This was his life, his element, his love. It was everything he wanted, yet something seemed missing.

Pausing mid-stroke, Leonardo glanced at Ezio, pursed his lips, then brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, smearing paint on his brow. He squinted at the assassin for a long moment before snapping his fingers and saying, "I've got it."

Setting his paints down, Leonardo walked over to the bed and moved the blanket aside, taking Ezio's soft member in his hand.

"What are you doing?" Ezio asked, letting the ribbon fall from his lips. He started to sit forward, started to reach out toward his partner.

"No, no," Leonardo said, batting Ezio's hand away. "Stay put. I can't very well paint you if you change positions every time I look away."

"But—"

"Hush!" the artist muttered. He glanced at Ezio, frowning at the wounded expression on the assassin's face. "I'm sorry," he sighed. He leaned forward and kissed his partner softly, smiling as he pulled back. Ezio hummed gently, pleased by Leonardo's attentions, and whined softly when the artist pulled away. "There."

"What was that about?" Ezio mumbled. He watched the artist walk back to his canvas and continue his work. He studied Leonardo as much as Leonardo studied him, watching bright, focused blue eyes flit back and forth from his body to the portrait, watching the practiced hand fly across the canvas.

"You're making this difficult for me," Leonardo suddenly said.

"I don't mean to make your job hard," he practically purred, "but you've made mine a little hard as well."

Leonardo rolled his eyes tolerantly and then set his paints aside for the third time. "It's not that. It's your face."

Ezio's smile faded slightly and he cocked a brow. "I haven't heard any concerns thus far."

"I didn't mean it like that," Leonardo sighed. He leaned forward and held Ezio's chin, kissing him softly. He leaned into the kiss, moving his hand down the assassin's front. He pulled away with a hiss, replacing the blanket where he brushed it aside. "I've already painted that," he explained when Ezio protested. "You were smiling at me. That wasn't quite the expression I was going for with this portrait."

"You're toying with me," Ezio pointed out, reaching up to run his fingers through Leonardo's hair. He smirked and kissed him again, but briefly this time. "Let's finish this portrait. I want to celebrate the completion of a masterpiece."

"No more smiling," Leonardo said, brushing his thumb across the assassin's lip. He leaned forward to whisper in his partner's ear, "Think of everything you're going to do to me once I've finished this painting...and everything _I'm_ going to do to _you_."

Ezio shivered as Leonardo retreated, and there were no more interruptions. The assassin lay there in the dying light, studying as he was studied, fascinated by Leonardo's talent. His hand had long since fallen asleep under the weight of his head, and his eyelids had started to droop when he felt warm lips against his mouth. He grinned instinctively and melted into the kiss, lying back so Leonardo could climb atop him.

"May I see it?" Ezio mumbled into their kiss.

"Why? It's perfect. Look in the mirror, and you'll see that I speak the truth," Leonardo said fondly. He kissed Ezio again, a second time, a third. His fingers ran through soft, dark hair, gentle despite his intentions.

"I'm sure," Ezio said, smirking as he sat up. He laid Leonardo back slowly, unlacing the ties at the collar of the artist's shirt. "But I think I'm more interested in the revenge I'm going to have for you leaving me on this bed excited and unable to move for hours on end." He kissed Leonardo lazily, moving his lips down to the soft skin of his partner's neck. "It was so lonely over here all afternoon, watching you concentrate so hard like that." His lips trailed down to the skin on Leonardo's chest as he pulled the other's shirt aside.

Curious, and more than a little excited, Leonardo cocked a brow and watched Ezio's descent. "And just how do you plan to exact this...revenge?"

"I guess you'll just have to see," Ezio purred, pushing the hem of the other's shirt up. He started to kiss Leonardo's stomach when he saw the bright, brand new scars that marred the artist's skin. Anger and guilt reared their ugly heads, bringing tears to Ezio's eyes. How many times had Leonardo tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault? That none of it had been his fault? How many times had Leonardo told Ezio that he forgave him, even though there was nothing to forgive? And how many times had Ezio not believed him?

"Ezio," Leonardo sighed softly. He raised a hand to the assassin's cheek, brushing a tear away with his thumb.

"Please," Ezio said quietly, moving Leonardo's hand away gently. "Don't tell me to stop, don't say you forgive me. Just allow me this moment. Please."

Their eyes met, and in that moment, Leonardo saw the pain Ezio had felt when he'd realized what had happened in those sewers. He recognized the anguish, the despair the young man must have felt when he thought that, once again, he was going to lose someone he cared for. Whose faces had he seen in the darkness that night? His stern father's? His mischievous older brother? Or perhaps the youngest Auditore boy? Young man though he was, Ezio had already lost so much. He hadn't even been given the time to grieve properly. He couldn't rewind time to help Ezio, but Leonardo could certainly give him this moment.

Nodding consent, Leonardo propped himself up on his elbows and leaned back against the wall, watching Ezio's eyes in the light of the lantern on his bedside. He held his tongue when Ezio's fingertips ghosted over the puckered scar tissue that was still bright red and just sensitive enough to make him flinch. Either the assassin didn't notice, or didn't want to bring attention to it, but when Leonardo winced, he moved away, focusing on Leonardo's pleasure again.

"Now," he said, all sobriety forgotten in favor of his preferred devil-may-care attitude, "what are we going to do about the injustice you served me, hmm?"

It seemed a strange transition, but the look in Ezio's eyes garnered no argument. He was willing to move past the hitch in their strides, was willing to let it go. That was honestly all Leonardo wanted, to put it behind him and lock it away as another nightmare soon to fade from memory.

"Why don't you tell me?" Leonardo asked, reaching over the side of the bed and grabbing the discarded costume hat. He plopped it on Ezio's head and wiggled the enormous feather, making Ezio jerk back and sneeze into his arm. "Ever dignified, _Capitano_," Leonardo laughed.

Peeking out from beneath the hat's wide brim, Ezio grinned and tossed it aside, leaning down to kiss Leonardo again even as he unlaced the artist's pants. They fought for a moment, playful as they tumbled and tossed each other on the bed. Of course, Ezio had the upper hand. He let Leonardo get the upper hand, but ended the tussle on top. He helped Leonardo out of his pants and laid his partner back on the bed, his hand brushing out golden locks of hair.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

Leonardo smiled knowingly and traced Ezio's lip with his thumb. "With my life."

The following morning, Ezio woke to a loud crash. He looked around the still-dark room and frowned, feeling beside him for Leonardo. The covers were still warm, so he hadn't been up for long.

Pulling on his robes, the assassin stumbled out of the bedroom, fearing the worst had come of the crash that woke him. He gained his bearings, trailing a hand along the hallway's wall to gain his balance as his exhausted mind tried to catch up with him. He'd been staying up too late and waking too early these last weeks, mostly due to his duties in Venezia, but also because of his personal worries. When he couldn't sleep in his own bed, Ezio found himself on the rooftop opposite Leonardo's bedroom window, watching the painter sleep when the nights were hot and the shutters were left open, or else staring up at the stars, praying for something or someone to come along and tell him what to do, how to direct a city full of killers, thieves and whores.

"Leonardo, are you..." His voice trailed off when he stepped into the washroom and found the man in question hunched over a landslide of books that spread from the shuttered window to the doorway itself. It was in that moment that Ezio realized he'd never been in Leonardo's washroom. "Even in here?" he asked, indicating the ring of cluttered floor Leonardo's lantern illuminated.

"Heh," Leonardo chuckled, rubbing the back of his head as he lowered his gaze. Abashed? That was a new expression for Leonardo, one Ezio wasn't sure he was fond of.

"What are you doing awake at this hour?" he asked, stooping to help pick up the mess.

"No, please, it's my fault they fell. Oh, Lord, they woke you, didn't they?" he said hurriedly.

Ezio picked up a few books even as Leonardo picked up armfuls at a time. Of all the things in his life to be embarrassed by—come to think of it, there weren't really that many, damn him—Leonardo was flustered by the clutter of his home. It seemed strange to Ezio that a man so preoccupied by his studies would resent owning so many tools of his trade. Ezio's own rooms in each of the safe houses he occupied during extended stays in cities were cluttered with weapons, discarded documents and various bits of debris from everyday life. He might not have been proud of it, but it certainly wouldn't upset him like the mess upset Leonardo.

"I should have woken an hour ago anyway," Ezio lied, allowing his friend a small reprieve. It didn't last.

"It's far too early to be awake," Leonardo pressed. "Go back to sleep."

"Nonsense," Ezio said firmly. He looked down at the books he held and frowned. "What are you doing up this early?" he asked.

Leonardo had started restacking the books in the corner of the washroom, and when Ezio asked his question, he dropped a book and the stack tumbled again. "I um..." He cleared his throat and straightened his sleep clothes. "Well. You travel far more than I do, and I don't often get to see you. I thought I might spend this time sketching."

Ezio raised a brow, a smile growing on his lips. "Sketching what?" he asked. The blush that spread on Leonardo's cheeks was unfamiliar, something Ezio rarely saw. It was cute, seeing the artist embarrassed as he was, but he tired of it quickly. "What were you wanting to sketch?"

Looking down at the mess around his feet, Leonardo sighed, "You. Somewhere around here, I had an old sketch I'd started a long time ago, but I've lost it in all this...all this _mess_." He gave the pile of books and loose papers a kick, swearing under his breath when he stubbed his bare toes.

Ezio studied Leonardo for a moment, reading the discomfort in his friend's posture and the frustration in his expression. "It really does bother you, doesn't it?" he asked.

Leonardo glanced at Ezio, then looked back down at his feet. "I was always a clean child. Apprenticing demanded it. As soon as I struck out on my own, with no one to really tell me to keep things tidy, and with my studies taking up so much of my time, I think I forgot how to clean house."

He stifled a laugh, knowing that expressing amusement at his friend's distress would be cruel, and stepped over the pile. "I'll make you a deal," he said, coming close enough to take Leonardo's hands in his. "If your assistants have not pulled their heads out of their _culi_ by the time I return, I will help you clean your studio myself."

Ezio expected a few reactions, gratitude at the least, but mortification did not make the list. "I couldn't possibly ask you to help me clean! This is my doing, my mess, my—"

"You are a brilliant man, Leonardo da Vinci, but sometimes, you forget when to stop talking," Ezio chuckled. He kissed the artist to silence any other protest but was met with a whole other problem when he pulled back.

"You're leaving so soon?" Leonardo asked. It would be unfair to say that Leonardo had been tolerant of Ezio's comings and goings. He'd been more than tolerant—much more. One of the many reasons Ezio never thought of settling down was because of his lifestyle. Having to travel from city to city all the time would never leave time for a wife and children. Leonardo was humble in their relationship, he never expected Ezio to show up for a meal or be home before sundown. It was a relationship with more freedom than any Ezio had ever experienced.

But Leonardo worried for him. It was apparent in how the artist looked at him when he staggered in with some new wound or another. Just the other day, Ezio had been spotted by a guard when he'd stumbled on the rooftops and had been chased six blocks before someone had the forethought to alert the archers up ahead. Ezio had been able to escape into the winding canals, but not before taking a bolt to his shoulder. The wound still ached him, but it had only been a flesh wound, something that would heal, given time. The memory of Leonardo's expression when he opened the door—so fearful, so expectant of the worst—would never fade.

"Only for the morning," he said softly. "I have business to attend in the city. I'll be back before noon." He lowered his voice into a playful growl and said, "Call on whomever you must, because when I return, this studio will rue the day I stepped foot in it."

Leonardo grinned, and in the flickering light from the lantern, it almost looked genuine, but Ezio could see the worry underneath it. The gnawing suspicion that maybe today would be the day the wanted posters would no longer need printing. Maybe today would be the day the gallows greeted a guest star? Maybe today would be the day Leonardo sat up late, waiting for a friend who would never return.

Ezio cleared his throat and turned away, heading toward the door. "Right. I'll return before long. Leave this, unless it's in your way. I'll help you when I return."

And with that, he was gone. He whisked up his weapons and garments, not bothering to don them before opening the shutters, climbing onto the sill and jumping to the neighboring roof.

Ezio sat there for a long moment, staring down at the weapons he held in his arms. What had he done with his life that he required so many tools for killing? For slaughter? That's all he did, kill and kill and kill. What must Leonardo think of him when he came in covered in blood, smelling of fear and trailing the stench of death?

Ezio shook his head, dispelling his thoughts as he dressed himself. He worked quickly so that he could arrive at the Bureau before the dawn light touched Venezia's rooftops.

"Don't let him out of your sight," Ezio said, giving a quick nod to the assassins he had been given command of. "I doubt the Duke is in any real danger, but should anything change, I am the first person you find. _Intesi?_"

"_Si_," the men and women said in unison. They departed, leaving Ezio alone in a dank, smelly alley. Even after spending so long in Venezia, he couldn't get used to the stench of the city. How could so many people blindly ignore such a smell? And they were offended when Ezio so much as hinted at it!

Scoffing, Ezio made his way down the backstreets of the waterlogged town. Despite its aromatic disposition, he did appreciate the salty breeze from the sea and the warm sun on his face when he stood on one of the many arched bridges that spanned a canal's width. For the first time in years, he felt at peace. His life was no less troubled, his heart no less heavy with grief and guilt and worry, but in that moment, that brief reprieve, he felt impervious to the stresses of his life. In that moment, nothing could break that peace.

"Ezio?" a surprised voice called.

Ezio's eyes narrowed, and he pulled his cowl down, bending his head so it hid his eyes. Bristling with weapons as he was, maybe the motion would discourage the woman who had spotted him? Who was she? No one in Venezia should have known his face. Unless they were visiting from Firenze...

"_Merda_," the assassin whispered, turning down a side alley.

"Ezio Auditore?" the woman called again. She followed him, calling his name again and again. He couldn't shake her! If he led her to a populated street, he could probably lose her, but at the same time, she would still be yowling his name to the rooftops. Anyone with half their brain intact would know his name by now. Ezio ground his teeth in annoyance, looking for stacks of crates or carts he could use to easily scale a wall. He didn't find anything in time.

Because of his unfamiliarity with the city, Ezio turned down another alley expecting to find a canal he might be able to jump in—the thought made him shudder in revulsion, but it was a last resort—he was greeted by the murmur of many human voices and a cacophony of colors and smells, most of which were unpleasant.

"_Cazzo!_" Ezio hissed, turning to glance over his shoulder. The blasted woman was still following him! And worse, now he had the sun in his eyes. He couldn't even see her face.

"Ezio Auditore, is that you?" she cried, stumbling over herself in the middle of the alley.

The assassin turned to look back at the crowd of people. No one even deigned to look at them until she stumbled. Her surprised gasp was like a beacon to the do-gooders of the city, and every head in the market-square turned to watch them, waiting for him to raise a hand to her.

"_Buongiorno_," he said half-heartedly, giving them an awkward nod. He turned and stalked down the alley, keeping his head down as he passed the woman. She didn't catch him until he was in the mouth of the alley.

"Ezio! Why are you running from me?" she asked. "I only want to talk—!"

Ezio turned and grabbed her by her arms, shoving her bodily against the wall of a building. He had a million harsh words, half of which he couldn't have strung into a coherent sentence with how angry he was at this fool of a woman for shouting his name to anyone with ears, but all of them vanished from his head when he finally saw her face.

"Cristina," he breathed, releasing her arms instantly. He took a few steps back, not quite believing his eyes. Cristina? Here? After all this time, after all that had happened, she was here in this city, in this alley at the exact same time as him? He grimaced and studied the soft lines of her face, the style of her hair. She was older, more matured, but she still every bit as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on her.

Flicking her long, dark hair over her shoulder, Cristina crossed her arms under her breasts, a defensive gesture made haughty by her indignant expression. "After all these years, this is how you greet me? Shoving me around and snapping at me? How _gentlemanly_ of you."

He winced at her tone and looked down at the ground. "My apologies, Cristina," he said. He realized he was saying her name too much, but he couldn't help it. The very thought of her being here confused him, angered him, made him think of far too many things.

Though he could feel her eyes watching him, Ezio started to turn away. Cristina was part of a life that no longer belonged to him. She was the adolescent love of a boy who no longer existed. It would be unfair of him to try to rekindle any kind of relationship with her.

Yet when she stepped forward to embrace him, he didn't stop her. He kept his hands rigidly at his sides as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in the curve of his neck. Everything about her was the same, the solidity of her body against his, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Christ, she still wore the same scent!

"I've missed you," she mumbled into his robes.

Ezio closed his eyes, swallowing the words he longed to say. "What are you doing here?" he asked instead.

Cristina pulled back slightly so she could look into his eyes, a mischievous grin on her painted lips. "All of that another time," she said, reaching up to brush her fingers across his lips. "I cannot stay long. Will you be here long?"

Pulling away from her touch, Ezio glanced around. "It's good to see you, really it is, Cristina, but I think you should go. There are things going on in Venezia that you do not want to be involved in." Not only did he have to worry about his own involvement with the city's politics, but the religious sect that had targeted Leonardo hadn't resurfaced after Ezio killed their leader. Their absence was a blessing, but the lack of retaliation after the death of their leader had Ezio on edge. They were the reason the assassin was jumping at shadows.

"—you would just leave me? It has been eight years, Ezio! Eight years since I saw you last. Excuse me if I want to try to rekindle our friendship." Apparently she had been talking.

"Cristina, Cristina," Ezio said hurriedly, fearing she would start shouting at him. They weren't so far from the lynch mob as he would have liked. "I understand it's been a long time—believe me, I do. But we cannot be seen together right now. There are people in this city who would put you in grave danger if we were."

To her credit, she didn't start bawling outright just to get her way, but the sheen of tears in her big, brown eyes were enough to soften Ezio's tone just enough. "Fine," he sighed heavily, "Fine. Meet me here again tonight. Make sure you are not followed." He berated himself silently. How in God's name was she going to make sure she wasn't followed? She was no assassin, she couldn't even walk down an empty alley without stumbling over something!

"I look forward to this evening, then," she said with a smile. She stretched up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Until then." And then she left.

Ezio waited until she rounded a corner and then shook his head, wiping his cheek on the back of his hand. It came away red with rouge. It probably left a nice smear on his face to match the blush on his cheeks. Blushing! Over a woman with whom he knew he had no future.

Cursing under his breath, Ezio stalked down the streets of Venezia in a foul mood. He rubbed at his cheek until his skin felt raw. What the hell had possessed her to kiss him, anyway? Why had she come to this damnable city? And why now? Why not eight years ago? Why hadn't she tried to find him after he was expelled from the city and denounced as a louse and a traitor?

He did, of course, know the answers to these questions, but muttering them angrily under his breath while he walked made his frustration easier to bear. He was so engrossed in his ramblings, in fact, that he didn't realize his feet had carried him back to Leonardo's studio. He stood in front of the door for a moment, wondering if he should knock.

"Of course you shouldn't," he chastised himself. He shook his head and opened the door, feeling ridiculous. "Leonardo? Did you round up any help? I've been thinking that this might be a three person job...or perhaps five."

Leonardo stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by his craft and his trappings. He held the beret Ezio had bought him to replace the one he'd lost, wringing it in both fists.

"Are you alright?" Ezio asked, causing Leonardo to jump.

"I'm fine," the artist laughed, looking down at the floor. "Just a little nervous about digging into these piles. I'm certain I saw something moving in there the other day." He glanced at Ezio, but didn't meet his eyes. "Come, let's begin."

Unclasping his weapon belt, Ezio walked toward the table. "Are you alright?" he asked again, looking over at his partner.

"Of course," Leonardo said softly. "Let's get to work, _si_?"

Ezio frowned and looked toward the door, realizing he would have to leave early to make his appointment with Cristina. "_Si_," he said. "To work."


	6. All Fun and Games Until

_I should tell him. _The evening spilled dark ink over the ruddy evening sky, staining the Venetian waters violet. _I know I should tell him. _Heavy-bottomed clouds, pregnant with rain, loped across the heavens, crowding the moon. _He deserves to know._ A dark figure slid out of the shadows of a tall building, closing in on the assassin with a gentle, swaying ease. _It would break his heart if he knew…._ The shades embraced, nervous to follow through with their tryst. _I can never tell him_.

"Ezio!" Leonardo said, excitement teasing his voice into a higher pitch. "How are you?"

Despite hesitating at his partner's sudden change of tone, the assassin returned the smile he was offered. "I'm well," he said pleasantly. "And yourself?"

"_Stessa di sempre_," the artist replied. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

Obliging, Ezio followed Leonardo to the makeshift gallery that had once been little more than a broom closet. Paintings of a quality Ezio had never seen hung on the walls and stood on easels; more than a few were familiar. At least three included scenes from Venice that he himself had witnessed, one being a spectacularly dazzling fireworks display at that year's _Carnivale_. "They are beautiful, _amore_," Ezio said, smiling broadly.

Leonardo stepped into the room and paused when he reached the covered easel standing at the back of the room. When he reached it, he turned to face Ezio and looked down at the floor. He looked small in that room, surrounded by his creations. He should have looked proud, happy at the very least, to have finished so many projects. Ezio knew the man was plagued by procrastination and had a tendency to begin paintings that would never see the light of day.

"I painted them for you, Ezio," Leonardo said softly. "All of them. If you will accept them, it would be a great honor," he said in a small voice. He raised his eyes to meet Ezio's gaze, but for only a fleeting moment. He swallowed hard and tried to smile, though it was a weak attempt. Ezio saw the desperation in the artist's expression and was immediately on his guard.

"Leonardo," Ezio said, stepping into the room. He looked around at the paintings as he walked and stopped a pace away from Leonardo. "You don't have to paint for me, _amore._" His partner seemed stricken, but hid the expression quickly and well.

"I understand," he said, touching the hand Ezio extended toward him. "I suppose I can sell them to someone. I imagine I'm still behind on rent, after all."

"That isn't what I meant," Ezio said gently. "What's wrong? You aren't usually this demure." He smiled and added, "Or quiet, for that matter."

Shaking his head, Leonardo looked up at the assassin and said, "I think I've been awake too long. It's hard to sleep in the summer heat."

"Maybe we should go for a swim," Ezio suggested. He placed a finger under Leonardo's chin and leaned down to kiss the shorter man. When he pulled back, he said, "You don't have to paint for me to impress me, Leonardo. You amaze me every day by simply existing." He kissed his partner again and pulled him into a hug. "Of course I accept them. You might have to hold onto them for me until I can find somewhere to put them."

"Your uncle owns a villa in Moteriggioni, _si_?" Leonardo mumbled into Ezio's chest. He held the assassin tightly, swaying them slightly in their embrace.

"He does," Ezio agreed, "I think the gallery there would be a perfect space for such excellent paintings." He pulled back just enough to be able to kiss Leonardo again, then held him for a while longer.

"You're leaving again, aren't you?" Leonardo asked after several minutes had passed. A shame, Ezio had been enjoying the silence between them.

"_Si_," Ezio replied, releasing his partner. "But only for a short time. Not as long as the last. I have business to attend, but it isn't far from here. Mostly I need to make sure the recruits haven't burned the Bureau to the ground. I'll be leaving shortly."

"When will you return?" Leonardo asked, leading Ezio out of the room.

"Before sundown," Ezio answered. He frowned and glanced back at the covered painting in the room. "Were you going to show me that one?" he asked.

"Another time," the artist said. He closed the door and walked Ezio into the main room, appearing thoughtful. He smirked and said, "When you come home, I think I will have a surprise for you. Something you've seen before, though I imagine you'll enjoy it much more this time."

"Will I, now?" Ezio teased, stealing another kiss. "Then I eagerly await my return." He grinned, patted Leonardo's arm, and then left the studio.

Ezio leaned against a building with his cowl drawn over his eyes, grimacing as the afternoon sun beat down on him. No wonder Leonardo had trouble sleeping. Even napping during the day would be impossible in this oppressive heat. He mopped his brow with a spare cloth and reconsidered the garb of his assassins. Had anyone complained about their robes? He hadn't heard any complaints thus far, but he would make it a point to bring it up to...well, as soon as he figured out who was in charge of their clothing, he would have a very long, very serious discussion about heat stroke.

Out from the crowd of merchants and market goers, Cristina floated down the street, looking for all the world like any other air-headed heiress, watching the world flow by with her ears full of cotton and her eyes shaded by ignorance. She wore a stunning white summer dress with gold filigree around the hem. A silken, scarlet shawl covered her bare shoulders, flowing out behind her in a gentle breeze. The moment she passed Ezio, he felt as if he'd been struck. Her beauty was unparalleled, and the scent she wore made his heart ache with memories long past.

Following the woman, Ezio rounded a corner, giving the alley a cursory glance. He found it hard to concentrate on being cautious when he had eyes only for Cristina. They were the only two in the alley as far as he could tell, and that would have to be enough.

"Cristina," he called softly. She stopped and looked over her shoulder, smiling coyly.

Ezio followed her into the alcove of a doorway and held her close with an arm around her waist. He brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her softly, almost uncertainly. He'd visited Cristina four times over these past weeks and had only kissed her twice before. He marveled at how different her lips were from Leonardo's, softer, more resigned. He wasn't certain if he appreciated that, but it certainly made for a different experience.

"Oh, Ezio," she moaned into their kiss, moving her arms around Ezio's neck. She hung off of him, even as he tried to pull back.

Ezio chuckled softly and kissed her again, lifting her and spinning her around a few times. She laughed brightly, and it was a sound to make gods weep.

"How are you, _amore_?" she asked when Ezio set her back down.

"I am well," he said, tracing his fingertips over her cheek.

"Good," she purred. She smiled, pushed his hood back, and ran her fingers through his hair. She sighed and rested her hands against his chest. "Ezio, we need to talk."

Ezio's heart skipped in his chest and he mastered his expression, letting nothing show but his pleasure at having her so close. A million secrets raced through his mind, fighting for his attention. Had she learned what he was? Did she know about the men he had slaughtered? Or any of the other dark truths he would never tell her? Worse still, what if she knew about Leonardo? As far as he knew, they hadn't crossed paths, and he had been very careful to make sure she couldn't follow him to Leonardo's workshop. "What about?" he asked, twirling a lock of her hair.

Cristina paused a heartbeat, and pulled out of Ezio's arms, holding herself. "Us," she said. She sighed and closed her eyes. "Ezio…so much time has passed since we last saw each other, and I want very much to be with you, but I have a confession."

She didn't love him…that had to be it. There was no other explanation. After all that time away, she had forgotten her feelings toward him. Or maybe she was angry with him? He had, after all, kissed her and left her in an alley the last time he saw her.

"—I hope that doesn't change anything between us…."

Ezio frowned, glancing over his shoulder. Had he heard something? He certainly hadn't heard anything Cristina had just said. "_Prego_?" he asked.

Cristina winced and looked down at the paving stones beneath their feet. "Must I say it again?"

"Humor me."

She took a deep breath and looked up at Ezio, tears falling from her eye. "I'm engaged to be married, Ezio," she whispered. "We can't be together!"

Ezio's breath caught in his chest, and he bit his lip to silence any harsh words he might have spoken. Engaged? Then what in the seven hells was she doing here with him? They'd had a fling when they were children, but so much had changed. Not only for Ezio, either. Cristina's father would have insisted she marry whomever he could find. If Ezio had been there, he might have been that man.

Grief gripped his heart in an icy talon and squeezed. Of course he couldn't have married Cristina. He was a murderer, a traitor to his people and his family. No one would want to even speak with him, let alone consider marriage. Maybe Leonardo was his best choice, after all.

"Ezio?" she asked. "Are you alright?"

The assassin lifted his cowl and turned away. "I'm fine," he said. "I must leave." He started to leave, but felt a firm hand grip his elbow.

"No!" Cristina said, her voice desperate. "You left me once before, Ezio Auditore. You will not do so again."

Ezio turned his head slightly, but didn't face her. He couldn't. "Cristina, release me," he said. "Someone is expecting me."

The tears in her eyes spilled over and she took her hand back, hissing as if she'd been stung. "Someone more important than me?" she demanded.

_Yes!_ he thought, but he said, "You were my first love, Cristina. You will always be important to me." He took a deep breath and sighed, turning to face her. She fell into his arms and cried. Lord knew what she had been through in his absence, but he wasn't the man to help her though it. "I know you're confused, and I know this doesn't make much sense…love never does." He paused, considering his options. What could he really say here that wouldn't leave her angry with him? "I'll be here when you need me."

He kissed her once more, then released her, making his way down the alley and out into the crowds of the markets. His brow was wet with sweat, but he felt chilled to the bone under the glare of the sun. Leonardo could never know about his meetings with Cristina. Each cowardly, guilty step he took reinforced that belief. It would break Leonardo's heart, and that would only be the beginning of the damage.

Ezio climbed onto the roof of a cobbler's shop and just sat there with his head in his hands, wondering what the hell he was going to do.

_I'm losing him_, Leonardo thought despairingly as he stared at his easel. He had been in the middle of a commission—the most boring bowl of fruit he had ever set eyes on—when his thoughts strayed to Ezio, as they so often did. _He looks at me like one would look at a landlord…he doesn't love me anymore. Maybe he never did. _The thought brought tears to his eyes and he mashed his paintbrush into a jar, stroking angrily at the canvas. Grief caught a sob in his throat and he bit his lip, refusing to yield to his depression.

Despite his convictions, his tears flowed freely. As he continued to paint, his tears fell into the jar, ruining the expensive pigment. Swearing, he set the jar on the small table he'd set beside him. It fell onto its side, rolling and spilling blue paint over his sketches and notes.

"_Figlio di puttana!_" he snarled, grabbing the jar and throwing it across the room. It smashed against the wall adjacent to the front door, and he immediately regretted his outburst. Paint sprayed across the wall and floor, making for a larger mess he would have to clean up.

Leonardo collapsed onto his stool and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. How had he let this man get under his skin? He was an assassin, for God's sake! How could he expect the man to have any sense of duty? He was a killer, a man who took coin in exchange for a life.

"That's a mercenary," he muttered, grabbing a rag to start cleaning the mess. "There'll be others...Salai will return. He was tolerant, at the very least." He knelt on the floor and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Was he really willing to toss Ezio aside so easily? Had he already lost faith in the only man he had ever truly loved?

_Fix the problem_, he thought. _If your gondola is leaking, you fix the leak. You wouldn't throw it away._ He smiled at the thought and then laughed at how simple it was.

"I'll win you back, Ezio," he promised. "I will win you back from whatever has stolen your fancy."

Ezio returned as promised, just before sundown. He entered the small studio locked the door behind him. He walked to the table and started removing his weapons, arranging them so he could put them on again easily in the morning. As he unbuckled his sword belt, he breathed deeply, sighing to try and calm his nerves. He frowned and looked at the candle that burned brightly on the table. It was...pink? Dyed candles were hideously expensive, especially when they were scented. The assassin leaned closer to the candle and sniffed. Roses. It smelled like roses. How wonderful!

Setting his bracers on the table, Ezio turned to look around the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but under the warmth of the candles that dotted the room, the harsh scent of paint lingered. Leonardo must have been working on another commission.

Ezio started toward the stairs and froze almost immediately. In the dim light the candles provided, he saw red spots on the floorboards. They led to the stairs, clumping together on the steps. He leaned down, reaching out with a trembling hand to touch one of spots. It was leathery and cold, not liquid as he had expected. He picked the spot up and almost laughed at his unease. It wasn't blood, they were rose petals. Leonardo was setting a mood, and what a scene it would be.

Following the trail of petals, Ezio pushed the bedroom door open and leaned against the doorframe, grinning at the sight that greeted him.

The room was dimly lit by candles scattered around the room. By the flickering light, Leonardo's pale skin seemed to glow where it peeked through white, silk sheets. More petals were scattered over the floor and pooled on the bed around Leonardo, framing his lean body.

Leonardo looked up at Ezio through eyes hooded with contentment. He shifted his leg, lifting the blanket to reveal a small pile of rose petals at his groin. "Good evening, _Messer_ Auditore," the artist said lowly. "Won't you...come in?"

Ezio's grin widened and he stepped into the room, appreciating the tightness in his pants.

"What is all of this?" he asked, removing his boots so that he would not crush the delicate petals on the floor.

"Your surprise," Leonardo responded. His languid posture stiffened slightly and self-consciousness soured the expression on his face. "Don't you like it?"

Smiling, Ezio moved to the bed. He sat on the edge and leaned over Leonardo, pressing a kiss to his partner's lips. "I love it," he said. "And I love you."

Leonardo hesitated, surprised by the words. Ezio had always called him his love, or alluded to his affections, but he had never said those three words in succession. Not in all the years they had known each other. It nearly made Leonardo weep.

"Take off those ghastly robes," he said, sitting up. He waited patiently for Ezio to follow his directions and then guided the assassin onto the bed. Ezio cleared the rose petals away, surprised to find Leonardo already at attention.

"How long were you waiting for me?" Ezio asked.

"Let's say that I'm grateful it takes you so long to remove all your weapons," Leonardo chuckled.

Ezio kissed Leonardo, hungry to taste him, to feel him. He wanted to wash away the guilt he felt, wanted to drown his confusion and desperation in the sounds he knew he could coax from Leonardo. "The petals are going to stain your nice sheets," he mumbled.

"I can buy more. I want you to enjoy yourself, Ezio," Leonardo said softly. He moved his hand to Ezio's hair and untied the red ribbon that held it back. He ran his fingertips through those dark locks, marveling in the handsome face they framed. "I am yours for the evening."

"Aren't you always?" Ezio breathed, kissing down Leonardo's neck. He moved down the artist's body, running his hands over as much skin as he could. He wanted to forget the softness of Cristina's arms. He needed to remind himself why he loved Leonardo. "Tell me why you love me," he whispered as he settled between the other's legs.

Leonardo gripped the silk blankets beneath them, shivering in delight. "I love that you always manage to surprise me," he said as Ezio teased him with his touch. His eyes closed and he leaned his head back, letting out a quiet moan. "I love your selflessness." His mouth was so warm, his tongue so skilled, one would think the assassin had been practicing. "I love...I..._merda_," Leonardo gasped, lacing his fingers in Ezio's hair. He cried out wordlessly as Ezio brought him over the edge, and he arched off the bed in his ecstasy. When he settled back, he laughed breathlessly and brought Ezio up so he could kiss him.

"I love you because you are everything I am not," Leonardo whispered. He brushed the assassin's hair back behind his ear, smiling almost sadly. "Brave. Strong. Smart in ways I could only dream of." He traced a thumb over Ezio's lips and smirked. "Unfairly handsome."

"You are all of those things and more, _amore_," Ezio protested. "My bravery is foolhardiness. I go into these fights and battles hoping I'll come out on top. It's by sheer luck that I manage to find my way back to you." He grinned as he laid Leonardo back on the bed again. "My strength is bull-headed stubbornness. God will not take me until I am good and ready."

"How very Auditore of you," Leonardo chuckled. "Your father was just as stubborn, you know."

"I do," Ezio said. Then he kissed Leonardo again and laid beside him on the bed, pulling him close.

"Are you done for the night already?" the artist asked, frowning.

"You said you wanted me to enjoy myself this evening," Ezio sighed, "and I would enjoy nothing more than to simply lie here with you. You can return the favor another time."

Though this hadn't been how Leonardo expected the evening to go, he had to admit that it was pleasant. He closed his eyes and rested. He didn't sleep, instead preferring to listen to Ezio's steady breaths, feel his partner's heartbeat against his back. He marveled at how someone so strong could relax so completely. It didn't seem right, knowing what Ezio was capable of, to see him in such a vulnerable state—it set Leonardo on edge, made him long to get up and stretch his legs.

"I've got to blow the candles out," he sighed. "They'll burn the studio down if I leave them overnight."

Ezio grunted in protest, but released the artist with a huff. He watched Leonardo travel around the room, snuffing out the small flames as he went. "Where did you find so many roses?" he asked, absently lifting a few petals and letting them fall back to the bed.

"Suffice to say that you won't find any roses in the florist shops around town for a few weeks," Leonardo said sheepishly. He walked naked downstairs, checked that the doors and windows were closed and locked, and then blew out the candles around the main room. He staggered up the stairs, feeling his way back to bed.

"Ouch!" Ezio cried when Leonardo tripped and nearly fell on top of him. They laughed as they struggled to cover themselves with the blanket and wound up entangled in each other. Together, they collapsed onto the bed, both exhausted from the day's events.

"_Ti amo_," Leonardo whispered.

"_Ti amo_," Ezio responded sleepily. He kissed Leonardo softly and entwined his fingers with the artist's, falling into a peaceful sleep.

Leonardo remained awake until Ezio's breathing slowed into the steady pace of sleep. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel a small amount of victory. Ezio was satisfied, and he'd even told Leonardo he loved him. That had to be a step in the right direction.

Secure in this knowledge, Leonardo slept peacefully for the first time in days.

A knock at the door drew Leonardo away from his painting, and he frowned. He hadn't been expecting anyone, and Ezio never had visitors...no one who would know to find him there, anyway. He set his paintbrush aside and stood, walking to the door. Upon opening it, his eyes widened.

"Cristina!" he said, trying—and possibly failing—to hide his shock. "Cristina Vespucci, is that truly you? Why it's been years since I've seen your lovely face."

The young woman blinked at him, probably as surprised as he. "Oh, hello, _Messer_ Leonardo. I didn't expect you to be here."

Frowning softly, Leonardo cocked his head to the side. "Who did you expect to see?" he asked.

Cristina gazed past him into the studio until Leonardo grew uncomfortable. "I was hoping to meet Ezio...I followed him a few days ago, because I wanted to know where he lived. He came here...he's always so secretive..."

Her voice trailed off despite the fact that her lips still moved. Leonardo's ears had stopped hearing her words, and he felt bile rise in his throat. "He isn't here," he said numbly, looking down at the ground, hoping she hadn't seen the tears in his eyes.

"Oh," she said. "Do you know where he is?"

"No," Leonardo said softly. "No, I don't." He gave her a short bow and wished her a good day before he closed the door gently and leaned against it. His heart gave a lingering lurch, and he slid to the floor, a small sob escaping him. "I've already lost him," he whispered.


	7. As Long as He's Happy

Leonardo pressed his back to the side of the building behind which he hid. It had been incredibly difficult to follow Ezio, because the man walked along rooftops and flowed through crowds with alarming ease, which Leonardo could do neither of. He had tracked the assassin for well over an hour before Ezio ducked into an alleyway and leaned against a wall. Silently, Leonardo pressed his back to the building and closed his eyes, listening to the words he didn't want to hear.

"Oh, Ezio," Cristina whispered. Her voice was followed by the sound of a kiss, and regret stabbed into Leonardo's heart. He took his hat and clutched it to his chest, trying to dispel the fear that rooted his feet to the ground.

"_Amore_," Ezio whispered in return. "I've put much thought into this...I fear that Firenze will not welcome me back with open arms. I have been away too long. Time cannot heal the wounds we have dealt each other, Firenze and I."

"My father can speak to the Medici," Cristina argued. "They still hold influence in the city. Your families are still close, they can help exonerate you."

Ezio paused for a long moment, and when next he spoke, Leonardo could hear the smile in his words. "Then I suppose it wouldn't hurt to accompany you."

"What of _Messer_ Leonardo? Will you tell him you will be leaving? Surely he will want to know so he can rent out the room to someone else?"

Tears stung Leonardo's eyes, and he slid down the wall, crouching on the balls of his feet. If he hadn't, he would have collapsed to his knees. He felt nauseous, heartbroken. He should have expected something like this to happen. How could someone like him be happy for this long? Something had to give, something had to break. He just hadn't expected it to be his world.

"I will tell him," Ezio sighed. He kissed her again and said, "Then you and I can be together."

Leonardo flinched as if he had been hit. He took a deep breath and stood on shaky legs. He stepped out from behind the building, and was met by a gasp from the woman in Ezio's arms.

"Oh, God," the assassin breathed.

"Oh, it's only you," Cristina said, obviously relieved.

"Leonardo," Ezio said, his voice pained, "I-I thought you were asleep."

"No, Ezio," Leonardo said softly. "I was not."

"Please, let me explain—"

"There's no need, Ezio," the artist said softly, holding up a hand. He smiled, but it was half-hearted at best. "I know...it will only take time for me to understand."

Ezio glanced at Cristina and started to step forward, but Leonardo backed away, giving a short bow. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you, _Signora,_" he said.

"_Nessun problema_, we were just talking about you, actually," Cristina said. "Ezio won't be requiring your room anymore. He'll be coming to Firenze with me."

Her words were like a knife to his heart. "I heard," the artist said softly. He stared hard at the ground, because if he had to look up and see the guilt in Ezio's eyes, he might have started screaming. "I hope you enjoy your time there, Ezio. Feel free to spend the night with Christina. I will have your things packed and ready for you to pick up in the morning." And with that, he turned away, starting toward home.

"Leonardo, wait," Ezio called.

The artist stopped and looked over his shoulder, keeping his gaze on the paving stones. "No, Ezio," he said. "You don't have to say anything. I hope Cristina makes you happy. I hope she loves you dearly, Ezio, and I hope you have a good life. You deserve it."

As Leonardo rounded the corner, he heard Cristina whisper, "What an odd man. Is he this attached to all of his tenants?"

"No," Ezio said. "No, he's not."

Leonardo walked back to his studio in silence, and once he was there, he packed Ezio's things into a crate. There wasn't much, a few weapons, a spare change of robes, and some documents Leonardo didn't open. Whatever they contained, they weren't for his eyes.

He carried the crate to the door and set it aside. He took a painting of the harbor so that Ezio would never forget the beauty of Venezia and placed it beside the crate.

It was near dawn when Leonardo crawled into his cold, lonely bed and pulled the blanket tight around himself, already missing Ezio as the scent of the man lingered in his nose. When he was just drifting off to sleep, he felt lips on his temple and a gentle voice.

"_Mi despiace, amore...Mi despiace_." And the only man Leonardo had ever truly loved slipped away into the dawn.

"As long as you're happy, Ezio," Leonardo whispered as a tear fell onto his pillow. "As long as you're happy.


	8. Resist Temptation

"_Maestro_," a young man's voice called. "_Maestro_, you have an appointment today!"

Leonardo groaned in response and turned over, pulling his blanket up over his head. "Go away, Salai," he grumped. "I don't want to take any appointments today."

He heard his apprentice sigh heavily and imagined the over-dramatic eye roll and pop of his hip that often accompanied such a gust of breath. Why he ever agreed to take the young man back was beyond him. "It's the _Duchessa_. She wants the painting of her dog. If you don't greet her like a proper gentleman, there is no way you will ever get her to open her legs."

The artist sat up abruptly, casting his blanket aside. "That is enough of that," he said. "I will not listen to you slander the name of the _Duchessa_. She's a good woman." He glanced away from his apprentice and continued, "She's the reason I can pay you for your services. If she didn't buy paintings, you would be out on the street without a florin to your name."

Salai appeared shocked for a moment—why, when he deserved the words, Leonardo would never know—then balled his hands into fists at his sides and stamped his foot on the floor. "I am twice the man you are, you old fool. And if I weren't around, you would be crushed under the clutter of this pig sty! If I were you, I would speak to me with a little more respect, _piglia-in-culo_."

Leonardo gritted his teeth at the insult, but decided this was one battle he didn't want to pursue. He'd been called worse by the arrogant child, and he suspected he would suffer more abuse in the future. He would rather keep his temper in check than correct the slight.

"If you know what's good for you," he said quietly as he stood from the bed, "you will leave my room at once and wait for me in the garden. Find the damned painting. I will meet the_ Duchessa_ in an hour."

The young man crossed his arms and smirked. "She is already here, and raving that you are an unprofessional snob who—"

Leonardo's hand cracked across Salai's cheek, breaking off whatever insult his apprentice would have delivered. So much for picking his battles. "Go find the painting," the artist ordered, pulling a shirt over his head and starting on the laces. He felt Salai's blue eyes glaring holes into the back of his head, but he ignored the reaction, instead focusing on hiding the tremble in his fingers. He'd never struck an apprentice before. Why had he done it now? He glanced at Salai when the boy didn't move and said, "Do you need a written invitation, boy? Go. Do as you're told."

Salai bristled visibly and opened his mouth to speak, but the look in his mentor's eyes withered the words in his throat. "Fine," he said and turned away, making his way toward the storage room to sift through the hundreds of paintings. Most were in various stages of progress, and more still would remain incomplete, but the few Leonardo had managed to finish at least had owners who would collect them in short order.

While his apprentice fetched the commission, Leonardo finished dressing. He had just started toward the door when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His reflection was shocking, to say the least. When had the circles under his eyes gotten so dark? He traced his fingers along the creases at the corners of his eyes, the frown lines beside his mouth. How had those gotten there? And when had his hair started changing colors? He gazed at the few silver hairs that streaked the roots of blond, and he felt...tired. He _looked_ tired.

"When did I become..._old_?" he whispered, lowering his hand. He sighed heavily and shook his head. He didn't have time to worry about his looks. He had to calm down the Duchessa, else she wouldn't pay for the painting, and he would have to chew on sticks and leaves to fill his belly.

Leonardo stopped just short of the rectangle of light that shone through the open garden door and straightened his shirt once again. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and emerged into the blinding mid-afternoon sunlight, smiling warmly.

"There he is!" a voice exclaimed in exasperation. "I thought you'd been carried off by vigilantes!"

Leonardo chuckled softly. "No, _Signora_. There's been a surprising lack of vigilantes around my home, but I thank you for your concern." He gave a slight bow of respect to the _Duchessa, _despite believing she had yet to earn it. This woman's name was no stranger to him, and neither were her deeds. He hadn't expected her to be so...venomous. She had only to stand in his garden, and the sunlight seemed to sheer away from her, leaving her pale and dull. Even the jewels around her neck and on her fingers lacked the luster they should have shined with. "Welcome to my home, Lucrezia. I hope Salai has treated you well in my absence—"

"Well, where is it?" Lucrezia demanded, peering over his shoulder.

"Forgive me, _Duchessa_, where is what?" Leonardo asked, caught off-guard by her tone.

"The painting, you simpleton," she snapped. "I thought you were supposed to be smart. And this is what I find? Puh!"

The insults stung him, but he shrugged them off for the moment, filing them away in his memory. "My assistant is fetching it now," he said. "Ah, here he comes. Salai, set it here on this easel." He gestured to the boy when he emerged from the studio, giving the _Duchessa_ another smile.

Two Italian Greyhounds were the subjects of the painting, both dressed in handsome garbs and looking regal—or at least as regal as a dog who weighed slightly more than a sack of potatoes could look. It had taken Leonardo over two weeks to finish the painting, and he'd become frustrated with it many times. It was a simple piece, but also incredibly dull. Much like its buyer. Nevertheless, his need for coin overruled his brain's need for stimulation, and the _Duchessa_ had paid him in full, upfront. If he was lucky, she would even pay him extra for cleaning up the mess her dogs had left him in his studio...in seven different places.

"What do you think?" Leonardo asked, watching her as she walked toward the painting.

Lucrezia's lips pursed in thought as she examined the painting, and Leonardo noted that even her rouge lacked vibrance. "Let us hope you are a better engineer than painter," she said scathingly.

Leonardo had a few choice words he would have liked to speak, but instead, he bowed his head and said, "My apologies, _Signora_. If you are unhappy with the painting, I can suggest a very talented colleague of mine. He would be glad for your business—"

"I do not want your colleague," Lucrezia said, raising her voice. Her lips curled into an unpleasant smirk and she continued, "I want you. Or rather...my brother does."

Leonardo frowned. "Cesare?" he asked. "What does he want with me? I'm only a painter by trade, not even the best in the city."

"Yet you hold a great many skills other than painting," Lucrezia said, taking a few steps toward him. "You cannot fool me, _Messer_." She reached out a hand and touched the tips of her fingers to his unshaven cheek. "I know what machines you create in your little...house, what impossibilities you make reality. You made it possible for a man to fly, imagine what you could do if you had more resources."

Leonardo cleared his throat and took a step back. "You are correct," he said, "but my inventions rarely leave my sketchbooks. Most of them don't work. Either I lack the right tools, or they're simply not structurally sound...Are you sure you don't want the painting?"

"Forget the painting," Lucrezia snapped, her voice suddenly harsh and sharp. She relaxed the fist her hand had clenched into and reclaimed his cheek, traveling down his neck, his chest. Her expression softened and then warmed into something Leonardo supposed should have resembled sensuality. It looked more salacious than anything. "The painting isn't what's important here. I have a proposition for you."

Leonardo's skin crawled under her touch and he wanted to back away. He felt her hand travel farther down his front, pausing at the belt he'd haphazardly laced through about half of the loops on his pants. He wanted her gone, out of his garden, out of his life. If he could only take a step back, it would be enough to get his message across without slapping her in the face...yet that's exactly what a step back would represent. She would be insulted by his rejection, and who knew what host of unpleasant things she could do to him to right a wrong.

"What is this proposition?" he asked, mastering his voice so it would shake.

The _Duchessa_'s eyelids fluttered, and she leaned forward, whispering breathily, "Come work for my brother. Build him great machines, and make his men fly." Leonardo used all of his will to split his focus between her words and controlling his gag reflex. The woman's breath was worse than a hound's after it had licked its rear. "If you do, the rewards will be great...gold beyond your wildest dreams, all the wine you can drink, and all the women you can bed." She leaned in closer and kissed him, just a peck on the lips, but her tongue darted out, tracing his lower lip just before she pulled back. Leonardo started quivering with the effort it took not to move, and Lucrezia misjudged the reaction. She brushed his hair back behind his ear and asked, "What do you say, _Maestro_?"

Leonardo took a moment to gather himself and steel his arm against the urge to wipe the vile woman's saliva from his mouth. He breathed deeply, regretted the decision immediately, and then smiled shakily. "That does sound wonderful, _Duchessa,_ and that makes it much harder for me to tell you no." He watched her expression wilt and told his mouth to stop moving, to shut up and let his brain figure out a way to backtrack this disaster. He was, of course, ignored. "My home is here, Lucrezia. I like it very much. I know the people, I know the culture. If I'm correct, your brother is in Roma, and that is a very long way from here." He swallowed hard and glanced away from the woman. "Might I ask why you've traveled all this way to ask for my assistance? Surely you have servants and messengers for that."

"My intentions are not a concern of yours," she said. "The offer will remain open until moon-high. If I have not heard from you by then, I will assume you have made your decision."

Leonardo nodded in acquiescence and watched in silence as Lucrezia turned, her red dress sweeping the grass under her feet and leaving it a few shades dimmer. "And _Maestro_," she said over her shoulder.

"_S-Si?"_

She turned her head just so to look at him from the corner of her eye. "I would strongly advise you to reconsider. I would hate to return to Cesare empty-handed."

Once she had entered her carriage and her horses had taken her away, Leonardo remained standing in the middle of the garden for several seconds. He pleaded with his body, even found a handkerchief in his pocket to wipe his mouth with, but finally lost the struggle. He staggered to the edge of the garden and leaned heavily against the wall, bracing himself as his stomach clawed its way out of his mouth.

"_Maestro_!" Salai called as he ran toward his mentor. "_Maestro_, look how many florins they gave me! Two purses full!" He held up the two fist-sized velvet bags and grinned brightly—why he hadn't just taken the pouches and left him in the dark about their existence was beyond Leonardo, and in that moment, he didn't care. "One for you, and one for me!"

Leonardo dry heaved a few more times and stood away from the wall, swaying on his feet slightly as he wiped his mouth again. He met Salai's excited gaze and plucked the pouches out of the boy's hands. He opened one of the pouches and plucked out ten florins, dropping them in Salai's open hands.

"Your allowance for the week," he mumbled. "They're going to kill me anyway, I think I should show you at least some semblance of how an apprenticeship really works before they do."

"Don't be a fool, old man," Salai scoffed as he examined the florins. He grimaced sourly and continued, "They want you for a reason, God knows what that is. All you do is mope around all day and wallow in your own filth. If they were going to kill you, they wouldn't have announced their presence, let alone stopped for a chat."

Leonardo smirked and tied the purses onto his belt, kicking dirt over the mess he'd made. "And I suppose you're an authority on bribery, now?"

Salai rolled his eyes in his typical fashion and slowed his speech, as if explaining a difficult subject to a child. "They want you to come back to Roma with them. If they want you, you are no use to them dead. Therefore, they will not kill you."

Leonardo studied his apprentice for a moment, then sighed, shaking his head as he turned away.

"Hey! What about last week? What do you expect me to do with this pittance!"

Leonardo paused just inside the door and opened one of the pouches again. He took out another ten florins and dropped them in the grass, leaving his apprentice to gather them. Let him stain his pants for his precious money. Maybe it would teach him some humility. And maybe the Tiber's waters would run pink for a day.

_"_Dio_! Harder!" Ezio's voice echoed in the room, and Leonardo's head swam in his ecstasy. Their bodies met again and again, the wet slap of their skin ringing out against the walls. _

_Leonardo's eyes closed as he gasped and moved his hands to Ezio's hips, helping the younger man thrust down onto his body. He moaned softly and squirmed in delight when Ezio mirrored the pleasured sound. _

_Ezio cried out, and Leonardo knew that the other was close. He propped himself up on his elbows drawing Ezio in for a kiss even as he thrust. They pulled back before long, both too lost for breath to kiss properly, and the face Leonardo saw was not the one he expected. _

_Her eyes were half-lidded, dull even in the candlelight, her blond hair draped over her shoulders in a fine sheet that bounced with her breasts. Her lips were rounded in a surprised little 'o,' and she whimpered as she ground her hips into his. _

_"Don't stop, Leonardo, don't!" Lucrezia moaned, rocking her hips above him, her body writhing. "I'm so close, won't you help me?" She moved his hands to her round breasts, using his fingers to cup and knead them. She leaned down and placed her own hands on Leonardo's chest, thrusting her hips down with near-painful force. _

_The artist screamed in fear and revulsion just as she screamed her pleasure. He shoved her away and she toppled off of him with an indignant sound. She landed on her back between his legs, her legs spread wide. _

_"Get away from me, _demone_!" Leonardo cried, drawing his legs up to his chest and moving as far away from her as the bed would allow. _

_"But Leonardo, I thought you wanted me." Her body shimmered and became Ezio's strong, sturdy, familiar form, though her eyes and voice remained. "Am I more appealing this way? Will you love me like this, Leonardo? Will you come away with me? The people know you here...they know your deep, dark secret. They've always known, and they've always hated you for it. They're coming for you, Leonardo. They're coming to hurt you. Run, little man. Run!"_

Leonardo jerked awake and flung himself out of his bed. He staggered, with his legs tangled in his blanket and sat hard on the floor, swearing. He was drenched in sweat and his arms and legs burned as if he'd struggled with the blanket even in his sleep. One rather persistent part of his body voiced a completely different complaint, but the residual fear of his dream was sorting that out in quick order.

The sound of fists pounding on the front door and gruff male voices snarling orders to open up made Leonardo jump, and he finally kicked free of the blanket, struggling into a pair of pants and a proper shirt. He'd just pulled on his boots when someone kicked the front door in.

"Find him!" a man snarled.

Leonardo looked around his room frantically, running through scenarios in his mind. If he jumped out the window, he'd surely land badly and twist an ankle at the least. At the worst, he could break a leg. If he stayed in the room, God knew what these intruders would do to him. But if he was going to be captured, he would rather be able to live with himself afterward. If they killed him...well, he might as well have a good story to tell when he got where he was going.

Opening the shutters, Leonardo climbed onto the windowsill. There was a ledge surprisingly close to his window. How had he never noticed it? Ezio climbed through this window countless times, and he'd never even stopped to wonder how?

Shaking his head, Leonardo crawled out onto the ledge, slinking away into the shadows of the night. He climbed down the first ladder he found, settling onto the paving stones as silently as he could. He looked around, listened for a shouted alarm or the clanking of metal boots on stone, and when he heard nothing but the chirping of crickets, he started down the alley. He rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks. Three men stood abreast ten paces from him in full armor, brandishing spears with wicked tips that shone brightly in the moonlight. Leonardo turned to confirm his fear that there were another three closing in on him from the alley he'd just left.

Leonardo grimaced sourly and held his hands up over his head to show he was unarmed. The men in front of him parted and a dark form stalked forward, sharp clicks announcing each of her footsteps.

"Lucrezia," Leonardo said in a mockingly pleasant voice. "If you wanted to meet for a midnight rendezvous, all you had to do was ask."

The woman sneered at him, her painted lips turned up in an ugly, self-pleased smirk. "Then you know what my next step is," she said as she produced a baton as thick around as her thumb.

"Where's Salai?" Leonardo asked. "What have you done with him?"

Lucrezia raised one slender brow, then chuckled. "It's the boy you think of first? How cute. That reminds me." She turned to face her men and said, "Find the boy. Kill him." Two men marched off to do as they were told, holding their spears high. "Now," Lucrezia sighed, turning back to face Leonardo. "Enough talk. Time to get down to business." She reached forward, grabbed the hair on the top of Leonardo's head and dragged him forward, cracking the baton across the back of his skull. Leonardo groaned softly, and fell to his knees, his eyes rolling back in his head as he collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

"I do hate becoming violent, but it's his own fault," Lucrezia sighed loftily, dropping the baton. A guard was immediately there to catch it. "Come. Bring him to the carriage. Take the paintings and important materials too. We can sell them."


	9. Back to the Old Grind

"Wake up!"

Leonardo groaned as he was struck yet again. His muscles, numb from the cold, shuddered and contracted, causing him fierce pain. He blinked a few times and tried to lift his head. "Where am—"

"Shut up!" a female voice snapped. "Hit him again."

Fire streaked across Leonardo's torso, and he cried out in just as much surprise as pain. He gritted his teeth, panting as he took stock of his aching limbs. His shoulders burned as if a colony of fire ants had burrowed into the bones themselves, and his front was aflame with pain from the whip Lucrezia had favored. He'd been trapped in this room for what felt like years, but couldn't have been more than a few days. If he hadn't already suffered similar treatment, Leonardo might have broken. But being suspended by his wrists, starved and watered from a filthy sponge on a stick was starting to become a norm.

"You can end this any time you like," Lucrezia said as she traced the tip of the short leather whip across his torso. "You only have to agree to build the machines." When they had arrived in Roma, a company of men had shown him the schematics for several war machines that would have been devastating if they could have actually existed. They were laughable in the designs, but Leonardo had immediately seen ways to improve upon what was there, had known that with his help, the Borgia could have the most devastating cavalry in all of the land. Cesare would have no trouble while campaigning in the summer.

"All you must do is say yes," Lucrezia cooed.

Leonardo hung his head and shivered again. "No," he rasped.

She used one hand to lift his chin and then cracked the whip across his face with the other, drawing a cry of pain from the artist. "You are a stubborn, foolish man," she hissed. She struck him again, reveling in his screams. "None of this would be happening if you would just agree to his terms."

Leonardo laughed despite himself and tilted his head back, grinning to reveal blood-stained teeth. He must have looked ghastly, because the guards at his cell door shrank back and averted their eyes. "As if you don't enjoy it," he said, ignoring the pain of his split lip. "You are a cruel woman who thrives on inflicting pain on those who don't cower before you—"

Lucrezia snarled, the sound feral and startling. Her lip curled back around her yellowed, stained teeth and she drew her arm back as if to strike him again.

"That is enough, dearest sister," a rolling baritone interrupted.

Leonardo shifted his defiant gaze to the man standing in the doorway. "Cesare Borgia," he spat. "Speak of the Devil, and so shall he appear."

The raven-haired commander smirked, spreading his hands in a hapless gesture. He wore expensive and elaborately designed armor that would have made most blacksmiths weep with the quality of the craftsmanship. Leonardo, though, only felt disgust. The armor would have befitted royalty—who was this Cesare Borgia to garb himself in a knight's uniform? Son of the Pope he may be, but he had not stepped up to his responsibilities. Rather, he spent all his time on his war campaigns, a detestable state of being that Leonardo reproached with every fiber of his being.

"You describe me with such kind words; surely you've come to your senses?"

"He has been exceedingly difficult, Cesare," Lucrezia sniffed, dropping the whip. She strode toward her brother and took one of his arms, clinging to it like a child would to her father. "I tried my hardest, but he just won't crack."

"No matter," Cesare said with a shrug. "I've found a better prize. One that has caused me much more strife than a simple man like him."

Leonardo's heart ached and he closed his eyes, turning his face away. If they'd found someone else to torture, maybe it would give him a moment of reprieve. He hated himself for even considering the thought, but he was hurt, exhausted, wretched. If they would leave him be for only a moment, he could gather himself, try to find a way out of here.

"Who would that be?" Lucrezia questioned, releasing Cesare's arm as he walked slowly toward Leonardo.

"You remember the _assassino_? The one that's been causing me such trouble?"

"_Si_," Lucrezia said thoughtfully. "Oh, what was his name...?"

"His name," Cesare said, lips curling in an unpleasant smirk as he clasped his hands behind his back and met Leonardo's eyes, "is Ezio Auditore."

Leonardo's shackles bit into the raw and bloody skin on his wrists when he flinched, and he clenched his teeth to choke a cry of despair.

"Yes, I thought you knew him," the Captain sneered. "It really is a pity, though, that you won't cooperate. He has such a pretty face—it would be a shame for something to happen to it."

"You're lying," Leonardo rasped, his voice cracking from disuse. "You couldn't catch him. He's too smart, too fast. He's eluded you thus far, you can't have caught him now."

Cesare leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing in a pleased expression that seemed almost savage, barely restrained. It was a disconcerting expression to see on a man who had only moments ago seemed so composed—even relaxed. "Are you certain of that, little man? Are you so certain that he couldn't have made a mistake? That a young man in his prime couldn't have gotten just a little cocky and gotten himself hurt?"

Leonardo opened his mouth to snarl that yes, of course he was sure, but the words died in his throat. He stared at Cesare, unblinking, unwilling to accept this. He had seen Ezio leaping across the rooftops, had seen him miss a step or two when he was climbing the towers in the city. What if...oh, God no, what if he _had_ been hurt? There wouldn't have been anyone around to help him, he could have easily been scooped up by a passing guard and been given to Cesare as a bow-wrapped gift.

"Stay away from him," Leonardo croaked past his grief, though he knew the words were useless. "He's got nothing to do with this."

"Oh, but Leonardo, the Auditore have everything to do with this. As it so happens, I know Ezio is the last living man in his family. His mother is so broken she will never have children again, and his sister...well, there are ways to ensure she never breeds. So, if I have the _assassino_ killed, not only will I be ensuring the end of a line of traitorous mongrels, but the Order he so loyally leads will flounder just long enough for my men to step in and finally be of some use." He took two steps forward, putting his face close to Leonardo's, the right side of which had begun to swell from being stricken. "Now tell me why I shouldn't cause him as much pain as I am causing you?"

Leonardo tried to hold the man's gaze, but it became too much effort even to keep his eyes open, let alone to maintain a glower. He closed his eyes and hung his head submissively. "If I agree to build your weapons, will you release him?" he asked, his voice raw with defeat.

Cesare smirked, his contemptuous gaze resting on the top of Leonardo's head. "No," he said, drawing a choked sob from the artist, "but I will make his death swift." He turned from the broken man to face Lucrezia, offering her his arm, which she immediately took. Neither spoke until they had left the dungeons and were in their private chambers.

"That was brilliant, love," Lucrezia said with a smirk, stretching up to accept the kiss her brother offered.

"Yes, my Queen, I know it was," he acknowledged, sighing. "If only I could actually find the worm. How sweet the torture would be; I would love to see his blood flow, his skin split beneath my blade."

"We will find the _assassino_," Lucrezia promised. "Once we do, you will have all the time in the world to make him pay for what he has done to us. In the meantime, we have the most brilliant engineer in all of Italia working for us."

"That we do, dear sister. Now come, lay with me."

The days passed in a fog, and Leonardo didn't care to notice them. He had fallen into a pattern where thought wasn't necessary: work, eat, sleep. That was all he did. Often times, he even forgot to bathe. He didn't want to think, because when he did, he imagined the screams Ezio must have made when Cesare slit his throat, or the fear in his eyes when he was brought to the executioner's block. Or worse, the betrayal he must have felt when Cesare told him whose fault it was he had been sentenced to death—surely Cesare wouldn't pass up that chance to gloat. Even when Leonardo immersed himself in his work, the pain and guilt in his heart never eased.

Occasionally, Cesare or Lucrezia would come to oversee his work. They were relentless in regaling him with the death of the man he loved, and each time they said his name, his hatred for them doubled. They weren't good enough to speak Ezio's name...none of these wretched people were. His anger was wasted because of his pacifism, and his unwillingness to strike back at these monsters angered him further. He was a coward, a damned fool! More than once, Leonardo had lain awake in bed imagining how he would escape, how he would kill Cesare and his wraith of a sister.

One day, after Leonardo had finally finished building the machines the Borgia so wanted, Cesare allowed him to leave the _Castello. _It was the first time he had been allowed to leave the confining stone walls, and once he passed through the tall walls that surrounded the _Castello,_ he sank to his knees in the street and wept.

With the pittance he had earned for his services, Leonardo bought a small studio, where he remained in seclusion. He lay in bed for days at a time, not moving, rarely waking from his nightmares. He might have died there in the dark if his past didn't come to find him.

A rapping at the front door roused the artist from his uneasy sleep. He would have ignored it if the person hadn't started knocking incessantly. Each pound at the door made his head ache more, and it finally drew him from his bed. His studio was a mess, his body wasn't in much better condition, and he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. So, when he opened the door, he wasn't surprised to see a look of disgust come over the young man's face. He was, however, surprised at the face that greeted him.

"Salai?" Leonardo croaked. "You're alive..." He looked down at the ground and then back at the young man. He'd grown in the time they'd been separated, at least a few inches in height, and he'd gained a lot of muscle. He filled his clothes in nicely, whereas they had hung from his thin figure before. "How did you escape?"

The nobleman rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest impudently, as he always had when he thought his mentor was being dim. "It's much easier for a child to run and hide than for a man," he said. "Are you going to invite me in, or not?"

Leonardo frowned softly, closing his door a little to try to hide the obvious disarray behind him. "I would rather not," he rasped. "It's good to know you're safe, Salai, but I'm not taking visitors—"

"Don't be ridiculous," Salai scoffed, shoving the door open. Leonardo stumbled back, swearing softly under his breath. His former apprentice grimaced as he looked around the studio. "You need me more than I thought," he sniffed. Then he turned to face Leonardo. "What happened? After those guards took you?"

Leonardo looked away, then closed his eyes for a moment. "I...was commissioned for some work," he finally admitted. It was the truth, if only in part; it seemed to satisfy Salai's interest, since he didn't inquire further.

"Alright," Salai said finally, turning to face Leonardo as he closed the front door. "I will help you keep from killing yourself under all this clutter." Then he grimaced and added quickly, "_If_ you pay me again."

"Salai," Leonardo said, shaking his head, "I cannot pay you...I hardly have enough florins to feed myself. I cannot afford to take on an apprentice."

"Then I will work for less than I did before," Salai reasoned, nudging what could have been a rag or a dead rat with his shoe. "It's obvious that you need me."

"Working for so little? I hardly know you to work at all, even when I was paying you a suitable amount," Leonardo scoffed. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

Salai absently kicked the could-be rat aside and turned to face his former mentor. "When the soldiers came for you, I didn't know what to do. My father accused me of quitting, and he cut me off. Mother tried to slip me florins, but Father wasn't having any of it. He sent me to live with my Uncle in Roma. Even here, I can't survive on his meager rations. He hardly has enough for himself." He looked to Leonardo's pale eyes, expecting to see the sympathy they had always held when he spoke of home. When he looked into the artist's eyes, though, they weren't the eyes of the man he'd known...not the kind, soft, blue eyes of the Leonardo _da Vinci_ he once knew.

"Don't look at me like that, Salai," Leonardo sighed tiredly.

"Like what?" the young man asked defiantly. "I wasn't looking at you in any special way."

"Your eyes, the set of your mouth. Worry, sympathy, fear. I know all of these emotions when I see them. God knows I've painted them enough times."

Salai looked away, blinking rapidly as if to erase the emotions from his eyes. "What happened to you, _Maestro_?" he asked.

A handful of long, silent moments passed before Leonardo answered, "Life. You cannot go through it expecting to be coddled and safe. Things _will_ go wrong, and you must be prepared for it. I wasn't."

"Then should I take my business elsewhere?" When he asked, it was not in the voice of a child whimpering from being cut off from his money. He spoke like a young man who wondered where his next meal would come from.

Leonardo sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Fine," he finally said. He'd known Salai for too long to leave him stranded like this. "Twice a week. You will come and you will clean. I can give you lessons when I wake, if you would like."

"That won't be necessary, _Maestro_," Salai said, holding a hand up. "My tastes run more toward literature than art as of now."

A small smirk curled Leonardo's lips. "They are one and the same, boy. I trust you can find your way back in the morning?"

"_Si_. It was simple to find you. Everyone in Roma knows to stay away from here." His voice dropped low, and he took a quick look around. "Apparently, you are under close observation."

Leonardo frowned in confusion, then stiffened when he understood. "They said they were through with me!" he said indignantly. "They lied!"

"_Maestro_...if they are people of power, which I assume they are, then it is in their nature to lie and cheat." He frowned as he peered closer at Leonardo. He looked lean...he'd lost much weight. That wasn't what caught Salai's eye, though. The tremor in Leonardo's hands concerned him greatly. A man of his talent who couldn't hold a tool straight would soon find himself destitute. "Leonardo, who are these people?" he asked, calling the artist by his name for the first time in ages. "Why do they scare you so?"

Leonardo glanced at Salai, then looked away, setting his jaw stubbornly. "They don't frighten me," he said lowly.

"You weren't trembling until I brought them up."

"I think you should go, Salai," Leonardo said, moving toward the door. He opened it, gesturing for his apprentice to leave.

"Leonardo, if you're in danger, tell me. I can help you—"

"Get out!" the artist shouted, slashing his hand through the air. He closed his eyes and struggled to master his breath. "Just...get out. Please."

Salai jumped in surprise, and even fear. His mentor had never raised his voice...not in all the years he'd known the man. Real anger simmered in the artist's dull eyes. "I'm going," Salai muttered, striding toward the door. He glanced over his shoulder right before the door closed, and he could swear he caught a glimpse of fear encroaching on Leonardo's anger. Whatever was going on, it had his master on edge.

Once the door closed, Leonardo stepped back, the tremor in his hands and arms spreading to the rest of his body. Cesare had him under observation...what if they saw Salai? What if they went after him? Would they kill him too?

"Oh...oh God!" Leonardo whispered. The last words he'd said to him...how harsh had he sounded, shouting at him like that? He yanked the door open, stepping out into the night. "Salai!" he shouted. No answer came. "Salai, please, answer me!" His voice cracked in his despair, and he staggered down the short path, turning onto the streets that were frequently traveled by Roma's citizens. In a quieter, voice, he croaked, "I'm so sorry...it's all my fault. All of it..."

Shuffling back into his studio, Leonardo only just made it to his bed before his legs collapsed under him. He curled under his blanket, hiding his head beneath his pillow. _It's all your fault. All of it_, a voice in the back of his head whispered. _Ezio is dead because of you...Salai will be tortured to death because you couldn't keep your temper under control. You are a blithering fool. _

"Shut up," he whispered in a broken voice.

_He'll scream, probably call for his mother...He'll probably scream like Ezio did. What if Ezio cried out for you?_

"He wouldn't," Leonardo sobbed, his fingers knotting in his dirty, blond hair. "He loved that...that woman. He would have cried out for her."

_That woman...what was her name again? Cristina, yes. Cristina Vespucci. It's your fault he fell in love with her...you weren't good enough. You were never good enough._

"Shut up!" His stomach twisted with guilt, and he clawed at his ears. "You're not real! You're just a voice in my head!"

_Am I?_ The voice morphed, becoming different in the two syllables. It went from his own higher pitch to that of Ezio. _Is this the voice of your imagination? _

Pain lanced through Leonardo's heart, and another sob escaped him.

_Why did you let me go? Why didn't you fight for me? It's your fault I'm dead...your fault!_

"I'm sorry," he wailed. "I should have fought for you, begged you to stay if I had to...I'm so sorry, Ezio..."

_It's your fault...your fault..._

"Leave me in peace," he begged. "Why do you haunt me? Have I not suffered enough?"

_Your fault...your fault..._

"Get out of my head!"

_YOUR FAULT!_

"Go away!" Leonardo roared, bolting upright in his bed. "If it weren't for you, none of this would have happened to me! I never would have fallen in love with you, I never would have cared when that bitch took you away! Get out of my head! I don't want you here!"

In the silence that followed, he expected the voice to continue, but to his relief, the ringing in his ears from his own voice was all he heard. He sank back onto his lumpy mattress and fell unconscious almost immediately, slipping into a blessedly dreamless sleep.


	10. A Chance Encounter

Ezio looked up in confusion at the woman sitting on the bed. "I don't understand," he said from where he knelt on the floor.

Cristina sighed in exasperation. "What is there to understand?" she asked. "You're never around, and when you are, you're either working on that letter, or talking to that man..."

"What man?" Ezio asked, raising a brow.

"The hooded one. The one I am not supposed to know exists."

Ezio sighed softly and closed his eyes. She knew about his meetings with Volpe... The only way she could have known was by having him followed—a highly unlikely explanation—or by hearing from an inside source. He didn't like either option, but regardless of the explanation, it wasn't good news. If she was looking into his business, she didn't trust him. That in and of itself was reason for alarm.

"Cristina," he said softly, "my business with him is as important as your father's business with his clients."

"Does that mean you must be away from home so often?" she countered. Then her voice softened and she lowered her gaze. "Away from me?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Cristina sighed and looked away as Ezio crawled toward her and reached up, taking her hands and resting them on her lap. "I love you, Cristina," he said. "I would do anything for you. But don't make me choose between you and—"

"Me and what?" Cristina interrupted. When he didn't answer, she shook her head, holding his gaze. "You never talk about your work. I thought you were a banker, like your father. But you don't have any paperwork, any files; the only time I even see you writing is when you're working on that letter!"

"Why are you so upset?" Ezio asked. "I thought you would prefer I kept my work separate from our relationship."

"Because I feel left out! You're always running around town. The only time we see each other is when we sleep, or when we fuck." She pulled her hands from his, standing from the bed. "I'm too upset right now to speak about this...why don't you work on your letter or something when I am away? It's apparently better company."

"Where are you going?" he asked, following her to the door.

"Forli. Father has business there and he's asked me to accompany him. We'll be back before the end of the month." She swept out of the room then, leaving behind an air of frustration and indignation.

Ezio sighed and rubbed his temples, shaking his head. This wasn't the first time they'd argued, and he doubted it would be the last. There was nothing he could do to fix the problem, and working on his letter sounded much more appealing than brooding over Cristina's complaints. So he made his way to the study Cristina's father had lent him. From a drawer in the side of the desk, Ezio pulled out his latest draft. He took up his quill once again, dipping it in his borrowed inkwell and holding it poised over the paper.

What should he say? He'd tried so many times to write this letter, but the words never came. His quill remained where it was, refusing to write what he felt. _This used to be so much easier...it was easier to talk to him face-to-face._ He sighed in frustration and crumpled the letter again, tossing it over his shoulder to join the numerous others in and around the waste bin.

Maybe he should visit Venezia? It had been so long since he'd seen him. Surely Leonardo wouldn't object to a quick visit? Ezio had the perfect opportunity. Cristina and her father would be in Forli for the majority of the month, and he could easily slip away to Venezia. It would only cost him a hundred florins for a boat, and it would be quick. It would erase the need for him to send a letter at all, which would solve one of the many issues that had wedged themselves between him and Cristina.

Within an hour, Ezio had packed a small sack full of extra clothes and withdrawn enough money from the bank to stuff his coin purse. Cristina and her father had already departed in a carriage, and he'd seen her off, though she had remained stiff and unyielding in his arms, obviously still upset. He would give her some time to cool off before he apologized to her. She would forgive him—as she had numerous times before—and they would go back to their normal activities.

He'd traveled most of the day by horse to reach San Marino, which was the closest port to Firenze. He stopped at a vendor to buy cheese and bread for lunch before continuing to the docks. The ship that would carry him to Venezia was not large; it would hold fifty people comfortably, but it was all he required.

"Ezio!" the grisly-looking captain of the ship called, his arms open in a grand gesture. "It has been so long! Your Uncle spoke very fondly of you last I saw him."

The assassin smiled at his uncle's friend, embracing him for a moment before pulling away. "It's good to see a friendly face," he said.

"Indeed it is. We'll set sail in a few minutes. I recommend you get on up there. We'll be in Venezia before long, my friend."

"_Grazie_," Ezio said with a nod before the captain departed. He took one last look at the city before he climbed the short board and stepped onto the boat. Soon enough, he would finally be able to see the man whose heart he had broken, and hopefully mend some fences.

"_Maestro_," Salai called from the main room of the studio. "Is this another of your _experiments_?"

Leonardo shuffled over to his apprentice and peered over his shoulder. "No, I believe that was last Thursday's lunch..."

"It's moving!" Salai exclaimed, standing sharply and stalking away. "I'm _so_ not touching that."

Rolling his eyes, Leonardo picked the mutation up off the floor and tossed it into the bin they used for trash. "I pay you to clean, not to squeal in fear," he muttered.

"You pay me to clean, _si_. Not to..." His voice trailed off into silence, and when he didn't finish the sentence, Leonardo turned to face him. "Who is this?" Salai asked.

"You have found a painting?" Leonardo questioned. "It could be anyone. My paintings were brought here from Venezia, but I don't know which ones—" His voice stuck in his throat as he walked toward Salai, looking over his shoulder. "_Dio_!" he shouted. "Give me that! Turn your eyes away this instant!"

"What? Why?" Salai protested as Leonardo took the painting, sweeping him back.

"This is not for you to see," Leonardo answered, setting it on an easel and taking a tarp from a nearby table. He covered the painting, fussily straightening it and standing in front of the easel.

"Who was it?" his apprentice pressed. "I want to know."

"You don't need to know. Go back to cleaning. I will handle the paintings from now on," Leonardo ordered. He studied Salai, whose eyes were locked on the painting once more.

After a long pause, the teen said, "He's beautiful."

Pain lanced through Leonardo's heart like an ice-cold spear. He placed his hand on the covered portrait and said in a soft voice, "He _was_ beautiful."

Salai puzzled over that for a moment before his eyes widened. "Oh...he's dead?"

Leonardo closed his eyes at the words, trying to shelter himself from the memories. "_Si_," he finally said. "He has been for nearly six months."

"I'm so sorry, _Maestro_. Were you close to him?"

The artist nodded in affirmation, lowering his gaze. "We were good friends."

Salai remained silent for a moment before he stepped toward the portrait. "I'd like to look at him more," he said. When Leonardo opened his mouth to protest, Salai raised a brow. "I am seventeen, _Maestro_. He has nothing that I haven't seen before."

Having been raised in Venezia, Salai wouldn't have been privy to the fiasco that had affected Ezio's family all those years ago. There was no way he could recognize him. Even if he did, what would it matter? Ezio was dead. The Borgia no longer had any reason to be concerned with him.

After another moment of thought, Leonardo stepped aside, removing the tarp from the portrait. A small tear near the edge—which was likely caused by being moved from Venezia to Roma—marred the canvas, but other than that, the picture looked as magnificent as it had the day Leonardo painted it.

Ezio lounged in a soft, golden glow from the candle on the bedside table. The satin blanket draped artfully over his body hid as much as it revealed, and Leonardo found himself longing to return to that moment. Back to that day when Ezio had been so reluctant, so uncertain. When that uncertainty had melted into strong confidence after the painting was finished. He longed to feel Ezio's hands on him, feel his lips once more, the warmth of his skin.

"_Maestro_," he heard Salai say, though he took no notice of it.

Leonardo's hand reached out, and his fingertips touched the canvas lightly, feeling the texture of the paint where he had captured Ezio's face, his broad shoulders, his hips. Every inch of the man he loved, right before him, yet just out of reach.

"Leonardo!" Salai's demanding voice brought him back to his studio, dragging him away from the warm, sweet memory and into the cold, lonely existence he now lived.

"What?" he croaked, hardly able to squeeze the words past the tightness in his throat.

"You're crying," Salai answered, holding out a handkerchief.

Blinking, Leonardo reached out to take the offered cloth, dabbing at his cheek. It came away wet with his tears, and he felt confused. He hadn't felt the sorrow that was so often a prelude to them, only pain. "I'm sorry," he said, clearing his throat. He wiped the tears away and handed the handkerchief back to Salai. "_Grazie_."

Salai tucked the cloth away and looked up at his mentor. He'd never seen the man cry. Leonardo was always happy, always putting on a brave face even when he was upset. "You loved him, didn't you?" he asked.

Leonardo's grey, teary eyes moved back to the canvas, and after a long, silent moment, he nodded slowly.

"Did you love _him_? Or his body?" Salai prompted cautiously.

The question dragged Leonardo's eyes to the young man, and he frowned. He felt he should be angry that his apprentice had so easily guessed at his secret, but what he felt more than anything was frustration. He and Ezio had something. Something special. Because of other people—people with whom he had no business whatsoever—they couldn't be together. His lips quivered, and his frown became an expression of sorrow. He bowed his head. "Both," he finally admitted. "But that's in the past. He's gone now."

Silence fell over the room like a shroud, with both men occupied by their own thoughts. What would Salai do with this new information about his mentor? Surely the Borgia would pay handsomely for an opportunity to snuff out the last living outside man who knew of their plotting? He had to keep this information in this room, but how? He couldn't very well tie the boy down, and killing him was out of the question. Bribing would work...Salai always seemed to need coin. But where would Leonardo find enough florins to make a substantial offer?

His brooding thoughts must have shown on his face because Salai was the first to break the silence with words that surprised Leonardo.

"I won't tell anyone."

"What?" Leonardo asked, turning to face his apprentice.

"It will be our secret," Salai pressed.

Leonardo's eyes narrowed, and he took a step toward the teen. "How can I trust you?" he asked. "You have lied to me before, stolen from me, cheated me out of money. I don't know how I could trust you with something as simple as a recipe, let alone something that could get me killed."

With every point Leonardo made—valid points at that—Salai winced, hunching his shoulders a little more. Then, when Leonardo finished speaking, Salai looked up at his mentor, his blue eyes uncertain, yet gleaming with indignation. "You can trust me," he said forcefully, "because I share the same secret."

Blinking, Leonardo took a moment to absorb that. "But you're always going on about your conquests, and how important it is for a boy your age to bed women."

Salai scoffed and slipped his hands into his pockets. "Lies," he said. "All of it. I'm not a dithering old fool like you, cooping myself up in my studio with various young boys flouncing about. No one suspects a young, foolhardy man of being...strange. Especially not when he's boasting about his latest lay."

Leonardo raised a brow at that. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood back, examining the young man before him. It was like seeing a completely different person. The snide remarks, the disrespect, the insolence...could it have all been a facade to hide what lay inside the boy? Hadn't Leonardo done the same with his work? Hiding behind it, trying to busy himself so he didn't notice the urges?

"Very well," he finally said. He held out his right hand. "A bond, then. You hold your tongue, and I'll hold mine." He watched the wheels turning in Salai's head as he had so many times before. The boy really was brilliant, and could have been a great theorist if he had the patience for it. After Salai came to a conclusion, they traded grips.

"A bond," Salai acknowledged, nodding his head. His eyes widened slightly when Leonardo's hand tightened around his own and pulled him forward. "What are you—"

"I may be old," Leonardo said, "but at least I'm not a virgin." The artist smirked before releasing his apprentice and walking away.

"And who says I am a virgin?" Salai demanded, flustered. "I could have slept with a hundred girls, and you wouldn't know!"

"Oh, young Salai," Leonardo called from the kitchen. "You have much to learn about spinning tales. In all the boasting I heard from you, never once was there anything that could actually happen in a plausible sexual encounter with either gender."

He could practically feel the dumbfounded expression on Salai's face, and when he turned around with a plate of stale bread and a glass of room-temperature milk from his cow—whom he'd demanded was brought to Roma before he ever started working on Cesare's weapons—he was pleased to find that he was correct.

"Old man!" Salai huffed as his cheeks reddened. He turned and stalked from the room, doubtlessly going to clean some corner of the studio to distract himself from his embarrassment.

"Oh, the ego of the young," Leonardo muttered, setting the plate and glass aside. He'd lost his appetite long ago, but Salai had ordered him—none too gently—to start eating on a regular basis, else he would receive a swat on the head. He ate only to humor the boy, not in fear of punishment.

When he walked into the main room once more, he walked toward the portrait on its easel. The assassin lay so languidly, as if his body were liquid in state. He looked at peace...happy. "I hope wherever you are," Leonardo whispered, touching his fingers to the canvas again, "you are happy. I will never wish you ill, love...but I cannot keep you here." He retrieved the tarp and settled it quietly, gently, over the canvas. "_Requescat in pace...amore mio._"

Evening had come and gone, taking with it the second day of their journey from San Marino to Venezia. The boat arrived at the harbor just as the sun peeked over the horizon, signaling the third and final day. The passengers from San Marino filed off the ship with relieved expressions. Even in such modern times, the conditions across seas weren't amply suited to the Lords and Ladies who crossed the vast bodies of water.

Ezio stood at the railing of the boat, eager to see his friend. He waited for the crowd to thin, and then followed them down the slat of wood. The moment he stepped onto the Venetian docks, he knew something wasn't right. The mist slowly crawling in from the sea, the forlorn look of the buildings. It was all so ominous.

Though he wasn't a superstitious man, Ezio took note of the uneasy feeling in his gut and started forward cautiously. His boots were silent on the shale paving stones as he moved, and the only sound in the early morning came from a raven, cawing atop a roof.

When he rounded a corner and came across a tailor's booth, Ezio stepped up to the vender and knocked sharply on the wooden counter. "_Messer_," he called. "I would like to purchase a cloth."

The tailor looked up from his project, pulling a threaded needle through some expensive fabric. He glanced at Ezio as he stood, not really taking notice of him. "What kind of cloth?" he asked, opening a chest and rifling through it.

"Something simple. White, preferably."

After a bit of searching, the tailor produced a short strip of white cloth about ten inches in width and long enough to tie. "How much?" he asked.

"That will be perfect," Ezio said, holding out six florins.

The vendor raised his gaze from the coins to Ezio's face, and when he did, his eyes widened. He set the cloth on the counter and stammered quickly, "Th-thank you for your business...have a nice day."

Ezio raised a brow, but took the cloth, laying his hood back long enough to tie it around his head, adjusting it so it covered his mouth and nose, leaving only his eyes exposed. Then he pulled his cowl up and turned away, grimacing when he heard the wooden board vendors used to close their shops snap into place. Whatever was going on, the Venetian people were on edge. The streets—which were normally bustling with excitement and life—were devoid of anyone. Even dogs.

Ezio's eyes scanned the streets before him, looking for anything that might be out of order. Nothing other than the lack of life seemed odd. He continued on, though his hand rested on the scabbard of his sword, prepared to draw it at the slightest hint of trouble.

Rounding a corner, he sighed gratefully when he saw Leonardo's studio. It was a welcome sight, one that he wished to always remember. He walked to the door and knocked, feeling his heart beat faster with every moment that passed.

An elderly woman opened the door. She had thin white hair and wrinkled, leathery skin. She frowned at him, peering up with cloudy eyes. "Well, are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to introduce yourself?" she croaked.

Ezio cleared his throat and pulled the cloth from his face, allowing it to rest around his neck. "I am _Messer_ Federico Melone," he said with a short bow. "My apologies for not introducing myself sooner." The elderly woman extended her hand, and Ezio took it, bending to kiss her knuckles. He held her hand in both of his—a comforting gesture—and asked, "_Signora_, I wonder...does a man named Leonardo live here?"

The elderly woman seemed to ponder this a moment, and she hummed quietly to herself as she did. Finally, she said, "No, I haven't heard that name before...is he your friend?"

"_Si_," Ezio said. "Do you know where I might find him?"

She took another moment to ponder. "Roma, probably. When I moved in, there were men loading things into carriages, very strange things...and marvelous paintings. How beautiful they were! I believe they brought a cow with them as well."

Roma? What business would Leonardo have there?

"_Grazie_," he said, stooping to kiss her hand again. "You have been most helpful."

"Oh wait, dear...if he is your friend, you best hurry to find him."

"Why is that?" he asked, turning back to face her.

"Because the people moving his things were soldiers. Soldiers from Rome. I don't think they were here for good reasons. They mentioned a man named Cesare...does that name mean anything to you?"

The assassin froze, fear gripping his gut like an ice-cold hand. "Yes," he said, "it does."


	11. A Broken Man's Faith

"_Maestro_," Salai called softly from inside.

Leonardo looked over his shoulder, absently stroking his cow's side. He'd named her Madeline. In the week since Salai had come to live with him—his Uncle had died in a landslide near the Coliseum, the poor creature—Leonardo had begun spending more time with the animal. She was quiet, calming, and she listened when he spoke to her—more like she didn't _not_ let him talk. He could brush her for hours, just speaking softly to her, and he would be content.

"_Maestro_!" Salai hissed again.

"Outside!" Leonardo called back, rubbing behind Madeline's ear.

"_Shh_! Don't be so loud!" Salai appeared in the doorway leading to the small, enclosed garden. "I must speak to you, but only inside."

Frowning, the artist turned back to brushing Madeline. "Why?" he asked. "Outside is the perfect place to talk. It is beautiful out today..."

"Leonardo," Salai sighed in exasperation, "that is what I want to talk to you about!"

"The outdoors?"

"No! Just come inside!" He walked over to his mentor and grabbed his arm with both hands, dragging him into the studio.

"Salai, this is most unnecessary," Leonardo chided. He noted the distinct lack of indignation in his voice. A year ago, he would have yanked his arm back and demand to know what the boy thought he was doing. Now, though...he just let himself be dragged. Imprisonment had made him docile, and he didn't know if he liked that realization.

"I don't care about necessary," Salai snapped as he shoved his mentor inside. He closed the garden door behind them and moved to each window, closing and latching the shutters. Then, he moved to the front door, bolting it and even going so far as the place a chair with its back under the doorknob. "You remember what I told you about your home being watched?"

"_Si_," the artist said, nodding. "What about it?"

"I saw some soldiers patrolling nearby. They kept stopping near the studio. Why do they keep stopping? I don't understand." Salai looked up at Leonardo and balled his hands into fists. "Tell me who they are. I'm living here now, and I believe I have a right to know."

Leonardo frowned and turned his face away. "Your position in this house is a privilege, not a right. I don't have to tell you anything, and you have no grounds on which to demand anything."

Salai practically hissed in annoyance and said hurriedly, "Then tell me so I know who I'm being searched by every time I want to come home! They stop me and question me, asking my name and how I know you."

The artist closed his eyes and shook his head. "I told you no...there is a good reason for it. They work for a very bad man. A man you don't want to be involved with."

"If he's so bad, why are you involved with him?" Salai pressed.

Leonardo narrowed his eyes at Salai, feeling something akin to anger for the first time in months. The sudden, hot feeling in his belly made him feel dizzy, and he blinked a few times to regain his composure. He'd forgotten how sweet anger was—how sweet emotion was at all.

"This conversation is over," he said. "Now that's enough out of you."

"No! Tell me why you're involved with them if they're such terrible people—"

"Because I have no choice!" Leonardo snapped. He lifted his hands into the air and then dropped them, realizing he wasn't going to strike anything. "They abducted me from my home and forced me to work for them. Do you think I wanted to build those wretched weapons for them? Do you think I wanted to be tortured, and beaten, and harassed every day?" He breathed hard for a moment then turned away, regretting his outburst. "You are not to leave this house—no. You are not to leave my _line of sight_, is that understood?"

"What? Why?" Salai protested as Leonardo steered him toward the back of the studio, to their shared bedroom. "Leonardo, you can't keep me cooped up in here—"

"If you want to live, then you will stay put," Leonardo interrupted, seating his apprentice on the cot beside the door. "If they found me in Venezia, they can certainly find you in Roma." His eyes became unfocused, distant, and he looked away whispering, "You're all I have left, Salai. I can't lose you too."

Salai blinked at his mentor and frowned, not quite understanding this sudden protectiveness. Leonardo had always been fond of him despite his attempts to make the man distant, but he'd never seen his mentor actively go out of his way to protect him from anything that could potentially cause him harm.

"You aren't going to lose me," Salai promised. "But..._Maestro_, if the people watching your home are going to start coming after me, I think we should leave here. They don't know me. They don't know where I go. We can go to my Uncle's home. He was a drunk, so not many people knew him."

Leonardo shook his head. "That's a bad idea," he said. "We shouldn't leave the studio. And besides that, I couldn't leave Madeline here."

"The cow?" Salai asked. "It's an animal, we can get another just like her! We're talking about our lives here!" He flinched when Leonardo raised his hand as if to slap him, but the hand never came down.

"Don't ever..._ever_ assume that animal means so little to me that I could just toss her aside," Leonardo said in a frighteningly quiet and calm voice. "Ezio helped me take care of her, he helped me bathe her, and he taught me how to milk her. _If_ we end up leaving, we are _not_ leaving her behind. Am I understood?"

Salai stared at his mentor through wide eyes. He didn't understand the sudden fierce anger that lit Leonardo's grey eyes. He'd never seen Leonardo's face twisted like that. It seemed now more than ever, there were things Salai didn't understand about his mentor.

"I understand," he fibbed. "The cow comes with us."

Leonardo straightened, lowering his hand. He looked around and moved to his bed, pulling the blanket around his shoulders. "I still think it's a bad idea," he said after a long moment, "but pack some bags. We can leave when they change shifts."

"And when is that?" Salai asked skeptically. They'd only just realized they were being watched, hadn't they?

"Just before dusk and dawn," Leonardo replied. He sat down on his bed, hunching over as he glanced at his apprentice. "Don't look at me like that," he said. "I knew long before you came around that I was being observed. Someone as important as the man I worked for wouldn't be so imprudent as to forget my existence the moment I passed out of his sight."

"Very well," Salai sighed. "Before dusk, then. That doesn't give us a lot of time...and everyone will be going home at dusk. There will be large crowds."

"Perfect for slipping through unnoticed," Leonardo said.

"Not with a cow," Salai countered.

"There are horses traveling to and fro all over this city. What difference will it make to take a cow to—"

"Don't say where it is!" Salai hissed. "They could be listening."

Leonardo's grey eyes looked to the window and nodded in understanding. "Very well," he said. He stood from the bed, bringing the blanket with him, and sat at the writing desk in the corner of the room. He scribbled on a piece of paper and then held it out to Salai.

The chopping scrawl read: _If they are listening, they will know when we plan to leave. From now on, if we speak aloud of such things, we shall say the opposite of what we mean. Understood?_

Salai opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. He nodded once, and then walked to the small fireplace in the room. He used the embers from the morning's fire to stoke a few new branches into flame, then set the corner of the paper in the orange tongues. As they devoured the scrap hungrily, he looked to his mentor. "So, we are leaving at dusk, correct?"

"_Si_," Leonardo said.

"And we are leaving the _mucca_?"

He hesitated this time, but repeated the confirmation.

"Should we leave her outside before we go so the guards will believe we are still here?"

Understanding lit Leonardo's eyes, and he nodded. "_Si_. We will leave her out there, and then they'll assume we're here." As he spoke, he began scribbling furiously again, the wheels in his head turning. He held the paper out to Salai, excitement practically making him tremble.

_There is a space below the studio. Only I know it's there. We can bring her down through the hatch under the French rug and we can hide there. The guards will have thought we left and will go in pursuit of us, making it easy to slip by unnoticed._

Into the fire the paper went, and Salai nodded in consent. "Then at dusk," he said, confirming their early-morning mission.

Ezio had bribed a captain to set sail early and had arrived in San Marino before the afternoon of the next day. From there, he purchased a horse, withdrawing more florins from the bank as well.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" a street vendor he'd bought a loaf of bread from asked.

"Roma," he said. "And I am sorry for rushing you. Please, have a good day." He turned away from the vendor and lifted himself into his saddle. Giving the horse a jab with his heels, they started off, cantering down the main road. Once they'd left the city limits, he coaxed the horse into a gallop.

He rode the animal hard, only allowing it to rest when it began stumbling. It was cruel, yes, but necessary, and he treated the horse kindly afterward, walking beside it to let it catch its breath.

"I've been a fool, you see," he explained to the horse on the second afternoon of their journey to Roma. "I promised a friend I wouldn't leave him again. The first time I left, he got into trouble. And now, as I have left him again, history has repeated itself. This is why we must ride so quickly."

The horse nickered softly, biting a mouthful of grass from the side of the path as they walked, chewing hungrily.

"Look at me," Ezio sighed, stroking the animal's hide absent-mindedly, "talking to a horse. One would think I'm starting to go mad..._I_ think I'm starting to go mad." He shook his head and allowed the horse to graze for a while, thinking over all that had happened. What would Cristina think when she returned home to find him gone? It would take him a week at least to reach Roma, and then finding Leonardo? Who knew how long that would take?

When he and the horse had eaten their respective lunches, Ezio mounted again and pressed into a gallop. This time, they didn't stop again until they reached the next town. By that time, the sun had sunk below the horizon, the moon taking its place proudly in the sky.

Ezio drew his horse to a stop beside a burly stableman and said, "I would like to sell this horse and buy another."

The gruff-looking man examined Ezio for a moment, then moved his grey gaze to the horse. "What's wrong with it?" he asked.

"Nothing, _Signore_," Ezio said with a frown. "I need a new horse because I am traveling too fast for a single animal to handle. I would run him to death if I continued with him. All he needs is some rest, and he will be as good as any horse you have in your stable."

The stableman crossed his beefy arms over his muscular chest, quirking his lips as he thought. He examined the horse a little more closely, testing the animal's legs and withers. "Alright, fine. I'll trade you a horse. The white one over on the left. She's a spirited one, she is. She'll get you through at least the next two towns. Where is it you're headed?"

"Roma," Ezio proclaimed as he handed the stableman the reins to the chestnut stallion and walked toward the white mare.

"Make that three towns," he chuckled. "She's a runner for sure. Might have made a decent racer if she didn't throw every other man that tried to ride her."

"_Grazie_," the assassin said, mounting the mare and steering her onto the road.

By midnight, they'd made it three towns over, and they stopped for the night. He was as exhausted as the horse, and his rump hurt probably as much as her back from riding for so long. "Sleep well," he muttered, patting her shoulder as he passed her, heading toward the inn where he'd rented a room. "We're almost there."

Leonardo's heart beat frantically in his chest and he watched the shadows passing over the floorboards inches above their heads. Getting Madeline down the stairs to the crawl space had been a task unto its own, but keeping her quiet was even more difficult. Leonardo had to take the oats he reserved for treats for the cow and hold the bucket to her nose. Once she'd started eating them, she remained quiet, happily munching away while the two men around her fretted.

"I swear to you, they were here," one of the guards insisted. He spoke with an odd dialect, which indicated that Italian was not his mother tongue. "I saw the cow with my own eyes, and the man swore he wouldn't leave without her."

"Then if they're here, where have they gone?" another gruff voice snapped. Salai recognized him as the Captain of the Guards, and he mouthed the title to his mentor.

Leonardo caught his lower lip between his teeth, chewing at it nervously. If this didn't work, they would certainly be put to death.

"Maybe they did leave?" the first guard asked, striding across the floor. "They couldn't have just vanished." His footsteps sent a shower of dust down onto Leonardo and Salai, making the dark, cramped conditions that much more impossible. Now, they had to resist the urge to sneeze.

"Then go find them!" the Captain snarled, shoving the someone out of the studio. He slapped the door shut with obvious disdain before walking back to the center of the room. "He is a fool if he thinks he can escape," he seethed. "Flowery artist..._pfuh_! I'll show him what happens when you make a fool out of Giovanni Mareski!" He strode across the room, and Leonardo's eyes followed him intently.

"What is he doing?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. A sound like flapping cloth reached them, though it was muted at best. Leonardo crouched down so he could sneak around Madeline, following Giovanni with the focus of a bloodhound. He didn't have many treasures, but the ones he did own were irreplaceable.

"Disgusting!" the Captain snarled. Through the narrow spaces between the wooden floorboards, Leonardo watched in horror as the man picked up the portrait of Ezio he'd meant to store away.

"No!" the artist whispered, his hands moving to his mouth so as to stifle any other exclamations.

"Perverted, disgusting _creature_!" Mareski shouted, bringing the painting down on the mantle above the fireplace with enough force to shatter its wooden frame. In his rage, he must not have heard the despairing whimper that came from the floorboards when his dagger sliced the canvas.

"_Maestro_," Salai whispered, moving to the trembling man's side, "you must be silent!" In the light from one of the candles above them, Salai could see tears streaking his mentor's face, leaving trails in the dirt and dust on his cheeks.

"I'll kill him," Leonardo whispered, his eyes widening with the terrible realization that he really did want to kill this man. Violence had never appealed to him, or even made much sense to him, but at that moment, in his terrified, grief-stricken heart, only murder remained when Giovanni Mareski tore apart that painting.

"No! You mustn't!" Salai hissed. He tugged at Leonardo's shirt sleeve as the artist began shuffling toward the hatch that led up into the studio. "Leonardo! Stop!"

The stress in the room—and the fact that she'd finished her oats—must have agitated Madeline, because she lifted one leg and kicked out, her hoof striking the side of Salai's thigh. The young man stifled his cry of pain, but was unable to soften the relatively loud thud of him falling forward and catching Leonardo around the waist, dragging him them both down to the ground.

Raising their gazes to the ceiling—floor?—they waited in silence as the Captain's footsteps suddenly halted. He turned to and fro, searching for the source of the noise. Slowly, he lifted one foot, setting it down closer to the hatch under one of the area rugs, and then the other foot followed. He inched closer to the hatch, and with each step, Leonardo's hatred for and fear of the man increased until he wanted to scream, if only to release the pent up tension that made his heart race. He would have, too, if Salai hadn't clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Captain! Captain!" a voice shouted from outside. Giovanni turned toward the door, his attention drawn away from his suspicions.

"Report," he commanded.

"Two men were seen running toward the Coliseum. We apprehended them, and they await you in the prison cells."

"Good. Off with you then," he said. "I will follow."

There was a moment of silence where the soldier may have saluted the Captain, and then he hurried away, his steps rushed as he scurried to obey his captain's order.

In the silence that followed, Giovanni turned back to face the studio, and then he strode slowly toward the painting, which lay crumpled on the floor. He kicked it absently with the toe of his boot, then turned away. "Disgusting," he muttered under his breath before he left the studio.

Neither Salai nor Leonardo dared to even breathe until the sound of the whinnying horses and their clopping hooves disappeared into the distance. Once they were certain they were alone, Salai removed his hand from his mentor's mouth, hissing as he sat up. His thigh felt like it was on fire, and he couldn't feel his leg below where he'd been kicked.

"We have to hurry," Salai said, keeping his voice low despite the danger having passed. "It won't take them long to realize they've been tricked."

"How did it just so happen that two men matching our descriptions were apprehended just before we were discovered?" Leonardo asked as he stood.

"I have friends in low places," the injured apprentice answered. He accepted Leonardo's hand and tried to help in getting to his feet, but his leg wouldn't take his weight. "I can't walk," he panted, leaning against a support beam. "I would tell you to go without me, but knowing you and how stubborn you are, that's out of the question."

"You know me well, young one," Leonardo said with a nod. "It's not far to the countryside from here, and there is a stable just outside. I can rent a horse, and you can ride it while I bring Madeline along."

Salai nodded once and winced slightly as Leonardo sat him down on the stairs leading into the studio. It didn't take Leonardo long to fetch a horse, but staying out of sight of the guards—thin though their presence was now—was no simple task. He ducked below the horse's back as he led the animal to his front door, then left it just outside. He retrieved Salai, lifting him like a child with an arm under his shoulders and hamstrings.

"On three, ready?" Leonardo asked. Once Salai nodded, he counted, and on three, he lifted Salai up onto the horse's back. The young man hissed in pain as he settled onto the saddle, the muscles in his thigh burning in response. "Go ahead," he whispered. "I know where your uncle lived." He didn't stop to listen to Salai's protests, instead smacking the horse's rump and sending it galloping forward.

Once the horse turned a corner and was out of sight, he returned to the studio. Madeline had found her own way out of the crawlspace and had begun nibbling at the tarp which had covered the now-destroyed painting. Leonardo glanced over the wreckage, but he couldn't bear the thought of seeing it in detail, demolished and ruined.

"Come along," he whispered to Madeline, taking her lead. He pulled a small bundle of alfalfa from his pocket to entice her and held it in front of her nose, leading her toward the door. With a heavy heart, he led Madeline through the streets, taking side roads and alleys to avoid being seen. Was this how Ezio felt when his face was plastered on posters over Firenze? It must have been awful...at least Ezio didn't have such a large indicator as a cow to signal his presence.

"I still love you," he whispered, patting Madeline's neck as she munched the alfalfa. Leonardo's eyes scanned the throngs of people in the streets as they weaved through them. With the Coliseum on his right, they headed out into the countryside.

Cresting a hill, Leonardo sighed in relief when he saw the horse he'd rented standing tethered to the post just outside the small house's door. "Salai," he called softly as he brought Madeline into the house. "Where are you?"

"In the bedroom," his apprentice called. "But I'm not decent, don't come in."

Leonardo brought his cow to the enclosed garden attached to the side of the house. The stone walls were covered in ivy vines and moss. _This would make for a beautiful painting,_ the artist thought. When he walked back inside, he moved to the single bedroom, pushing the door open. "Like you said before, it isn't anything I haven't seen," he reasoned with his apprentice when the boy hurriedly grabbed a blanket to cover himself.

"Leonardo, get out. I can take care of the bruise myself," Salai snapped.

"Nonsense," Leonardo scoffed. "Come on. Take the blanket away. I need to see it. Madeline has a very firm kick. She could have hit something important."

For all of his arguing, Salai knew that he needed someone with more knowledge of injuries and the human body to look at his wound. That person would be Leonardo. Nevertheless, he blushed profusely as he moved the blanket away. Madeline had hit him nearly square on the front of his hip bone. A nasty bruise had begun spreading over his pale skin.

"It will hurt for a while," Leonardo said, giving it a few gentle pokes here and there much to Salai's discomfort, "but she didn't manage to hit anything important. Any arteries in your leg are much farther back." He stood from his crouched position and looked Salai over.

"Any other...comments?" Salai asked, pulling the hem of his light brown shirt down to cover himself.

"About?"

Salai's blush crept higher on his face, tinting the tips of his ears red. "You've just seen me half naked, and you ask such a question," he said indignantly.

Looking genuinely puzzled, Leonardo asked, "What would you rather I say?" he asked. "That I find you appealing to the eye? I doubt you need me to tell you that. I'm certain you're fully aware of it."

Salai shook his head and moved to grab his pants. "You can be so daft sometimes," he sighed. "The most brilliant man in Italia can't realize when someone is flirting with him..."

"That was flirting?" Leonardo asked dubiously as he turned away, heading for the door. "It's no wonder your stories were never the truth." He stumbled to a stop when something smacked him rather forcefully on the back of the head. He looked behind him and found a pillow on the floor and a rather perturbed apprentice by the bed.

"Shut up!" Salai snarled, actual anger in his eyes and voice.

"Salai, I meant only to joke...I didn't realize I would upset you—"

"That's the problem!" Salai nearly shouted. "I have worked for you for how long? And you still have no idea how to talk to me! We've had entire conversations where you just grunt in response to what I say."

"If that happened in the last few months—"

"You aren't at fault, I know the script, Leonardo," he said mockingly. "Maybe I should turn you in anyway? They might pay me a handsome reward. More than you ever did!"

"In case you forgot," Leonardo said in a tightly controlled voice, "my face is not the only one soon to be on the wanted posters. Why are you so angry?"

Salai's hands clenched into fists, and he closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter," he whispered.

"If it doesn't matter, what's the harm in saying it?" Leonardo challenged.

"No."

"Salai, you're being stubborn again. I've told you what being stubborn gets you—"

"It's because I love you, alright?" Salai burst out. "I fell in love with you like a dog for a bitch in heat." His voice held no venom toward the end, only defeat. "I can't stop thinking about you...and when I look at you, I see that look in your eyes, and it hurts."

"What look?" Leonardo questioned, his voice edging on caution and concern.

"The one you get what you're thinking about _him_," he spat. "That pining look...it's like a child losing his favorite toy—"

Without either of them realizing it, Leonardo had crossed the room, his open hand striking Salai across the cheek. "Don't you _dare_—"

"Save me the lecture!" Salai shouted in his mentor's face, his voice cracking as the tears of frustration fell from his eyes. "Don't talk about _this_ like that, don't talk about _that_ like this, I get it!" He pushed past Leonardo, limping heavily. Sitting on the bed, he pulled his pants on with jerky motions. "I'm leaving," he sniffed.

"Where will you go where the guards will not find you?"

"A sewer maybe," he snapped. "Anywhere is better than here!" He stood and pulled his shoes on, wincing as he leaned over. "Or maybe I'll just turn myself in. If they kill me, I won't have to worry about saying the wrong thing anymore!"

"Salai, stop this," Leonardo ordered. "You're being dramatic."

The young man limped out of the room, his anger apparently allowing him to ignore the pain. "I quit," he said. "Find yourself another live in maid." He limped toward the front door and left the artist standing in the middle of his Uncle's living room, dazed and confused.


	12. Reunited

The caravan of wagons and pedestrians seemed to inch along the bridge. Roma was finally in sight, and Ezio waited impatiently atop his horse, knowing that Leonardo was somewhere within the city's walls. It had been months since he'd seen the man who had so captivated his heart, and he had missed him fiercely. Yet now, when he was mere hours away from his goal, he blanched at the idea of seeing Leonardo. What would he say to him? What could possibly excuse Ezio's actions?

He pushed the thoughts away and instead turned his attention to the people around him.

When they finally emerged onto a road wide enough to hold more than two horses abreast, Ezio steered his mare off the road. His impatience was subdued by the subtle fear in his gut, but left him no less irritated at the pace of the foot traffic.

Ignoring the remarks from the pedestrians his horse had to nudge out of the way, Ezio tapped his heels against the mare's ribs, urging her into a gallop. They reached the gates in the wall before the caravan, which would make admittance both more pleasant and faster for all those involved.

"Name?" a bored-looking soldier asked, holding a ledger in one hand and a charcoal stick in the other.

"Federico Melone," Ezio answered.

"Uh-huh. And how long do you intend to stay, _Signore _Melone?"

Ezio glanced down at the soldier, who held his charcoal stick poised above the paper.

"Until I find something I've lost," he answered.

The guard's charcoal scribbled across the page, and then he tore a segment off. "See the Captain of the guard. He may be able to help you find your lost item," he said, holding the square of paper out.

Ezio leaned down and took the offered paper. It bore a sigil and a signature. "_Grazie_," he said, spurring his horse forward as he tucked the paper into his robes.

The first thing he noticed about the city was its sheer size. With streets wide enough to accommodate two wagons abreast, the steady flow of traffic within the roads created an almost dizzying clatter. Voices everywhere, bright flashes of color. And the smells! Baking bread, the strong scent of freshly turned hay, oil and metal from the blacksmiths. He closed his eyes and allowed his horse to lead him forward through the crowd.

"_Signore_, could I interest you in a wedge of cheese?" an elderly vendor asked.

Ezio stopped his mare and slipped down off the saddle. He strode to the side of the road where he could speak with the vendor. "_Grazie, Madonna_," he said, pulling a florin from his coin purse. He accepted the small wedge of goat cheese and bread, stacked them one atop the other, and took a bite. As he chewed, he looked around, taking in what the city had to offer.

As his eyes scanned the buildings around him, something caught his attention.

His heart staggered in his chest, and he had to struggle to draw a breath. When he finally managed to, he breathed in a mouthful of bread and cheese.

"_Ack_!" he spluttered, coughing loudly and drawing plenty of unwanted attention.

"That man is choking!" a bystander exclaimed.

"Don't...need help," Ezio hacked, waving the concerned citizens away. He coughed hard twice more, finally clearing his lungs of the food. "I'm fine!" he said weakly, blinking watery eyes. "Go about your business..."

The gaggle of Roma's finest dispersed rapidly, becoming unconcerned pedestrians once more. It was disturbing—yet essential—that they could so easily forget an event like a man nearly choking to death.

He cast such thoughts aside and made for the object which had caused him such shock. His horse followed dutifully.

"_Dio_," he whispered as he tore the wanted poster off the side of the building. He ran his fingers over the perfectly drawn sketch and felt a cold shiver travel up his spine.

He turned to the left and could see more of the posters plastered around the city. He looked to his right to discover the same. A single question came to mind:

Why was Leonardo da Vinci a wanted man?

"_Cazzo_!" Salai spat, ducking back behind the corner of the building he hid behind. "He's alive. _Maestro_ said he was dead! He lied to me!" He turned to peer around the corner again. The man had vanished. "Damn it!" he snarled. He whirled round and sprinted down a side road. If he could get to Leonardo before Ezio, maybe he could stop...what? He didn't even know what Ezio was in town for. He'd obviously been disturbed by the sight of the wanted posters, so he would likely go in pursuit of Leonardo. What exactly did Salai hope to accomplish if he went back to Leonardo now? Persuade the man to love him? Fat chance of that happening, it had been over a week since Salai had left. How could he hope to retract the harsh words that had shoved a wedge between them?

But the mere thought of Ezio holding Leonardo infuriated him. He'd worked for Leonardo for years and never saw hide or hair from the elusive Auditore. "He doesn't deserve Leonardo's affections," he reasoned as he ran.

"Watch yourself, boy!" a man carrying a crate shouted as Salai plowed past him.

"Piss off old man!" Salai snapped over his shoulder, hurrying away. It took him five minutes to reach the countryside, and another three to reach the house he'd religiously avoided for the past days. His hip ached as he skidded to a halt and pounded on the door with his fist, shouting, "Leonardo! Open the door, please!"

A few seconds passed, and finally, the door opened. "Salai," Leonardo said, his eyes dull and bloodshot. He looked haggard and bedraggled, like he hadn't slept. "What are you doing here?" Wariness settled into his expression, and he took a half-step back. "What do you want?"

Anger flashed through Salai for a fleeting moment, and he pushed into the house, forcing Leonardo back. "I've been a fool," he said, striding to the middle of the living room and turning to face Leonardo.

"What is this about?" Leonardo asked suspiciously, closing the door and turning to face his former apprentice. "You told me you never wanted to see me again...I assumed you were true to your word."

"Forget what I said," Salai snapped, walking toward Leonardo. He watched as the artist backed away from his advance, and it hurt to see how uncertain the other was. "I only want what can happen now." He fell silent for a long moment, and then stepped close to Leonardo, leaning up on the tips of his toes. Finally! He'd wanted this for so long, and after being led to believe that nothing would come of his attraction to Leonardo, it was a relief to finally have something.

When the young man leaned forward as if to kiss him, Leonardo took another step back, turning his face away. The thought of kissing Salai seemed inherently...wrong. He couldn't do it. "Salai," he said roughly. "I'm not sure if I'm ready..."

Salai let out a frustrated sound, and he looked up at his former Master. "Don't say that," he protested. "Please...please, God, don't say that. We can finally be together...please, Leonardo."

Leonardo looked away, appearing uncomfortable. His feelings for Ezio were far from gone, and he was still recovering from the pain of his loss. Not only that, but they were in hiding...this certainly wasn't the time or the place for such an activity.

Then again, it had been so long. And Salai was obviously willing. If he didn't, it would make dealing with the young man all but unbearable. Surely one night with him wouldn't end the world as he knew it. "Fine," he said softly. "The shutters are already locked. Go to the bedroom, and wait for me there. I will be just a moment."

Salai looked about ready to burst, and he nodded repeatedly before turning and hurrying into the bedroom.

"_Dio_...what have I done?" Leonardo whispered, running his fingers through his hair. He walked to the single mirror in the house and looked at his reflection. He looked tired. When was the last time he'd actually had a restful night? It made him sad that he couldn't remember.

Shaking his head, Leonardo moved his hands to the laces on his shirt and began undoing them as he walked toward the bedroom. Despite his reluctance, the sight which greeted him was more than enough to make his blood run a little hotter.

Salai had stripped and was laying in one of the positions Leonardo had favored painting him. The young man lay with his head on his arm, draped languidly over a pillow, the line of his body flowing with a blanket flung carelessly over him. It hid as much as it exposed, and the pale skin Leonardo could see was inviting and smooth, marred only by a few freckles darted here and there.

"What's this?" Leonardo asked, his voice a touch rough. His mouth felt a dry as well.

"You seemed unsure," Salai said, blinking up at his former Master with alluring eyes. "I wanted to erase all doubt."

Leonardo let out a little huff of nervous laughter as he closed the door behind him. "You've certainly done that," he said as he walked toward the bed. "Unfortunately, sex isn't really picture-perfect. I'll have to ruin such a handsome display."

"Not ruin," Salai said as he slowly sat up, moving toward the edge of the bed so that he could lift Leonardo's shirt up over his shoulders. "Improve." His fingers moved to the ties holding the older man's pants closed, and his lips feathered Leonardo's chest as he worked.

"Will I be your first?" Leonardo asked, moving his hand to Salai's blond curls.

"_Si_," he mumbled, his lips teasing Leonardo's nipple. His tongue gently circled the nub of flesh, drawing a soft breath from the artist. He dipped his hands into Leonardo's pants, but pulled away when the other moved forward.

"No," he said. "Not too quickly. If it's to be done, it's to be done right." He guided Salai onto his back, struggling to focus on the young man beneath him and not slip into his memories. His hands were gentle as he positioned the young man, spreading his legs enough to allow him access. The bruise Madeline had given him was still evident, but only as a faded greenish-yellow mark. It would soon heal completely and be just another painful memory. "You're beautiful," he said as he stood back from the bed, removing his shoes and pants.

"You've told me," Salai said quietly. He looked calm and languid, even if his eyes flicked to the window on the opposite wall every once in a while.

"Relax," Leonardo coaxed. "We won't be disturbed."

"Enough talk," Salai pressed. "I want to feel you, not hear you."

A small smile played on Leonardo's lips, and he left the room, much to Salai's confusion. He returned a moment later with a small bowl of olive oil, just enough to ease things along.

Leonardo dipped his fingers in the bowl and moved onto the bed, settling over Salai's smaller frame. He had never considered the young man to be timid, but from this angle, from the apprehensive excitement in his blue eyes, Leonardo saw Salai, for the first time, as a slight man. As an unobtrusive man who could be easily broken. As young a man, hardly out of his youth who needed to be protected. He closed his eyes, lowering his mouth to Salai's chest and toying with his nipples to distract him. He felt Salai growing against his abdomen, and he moved his hand between them, easing his fingers in.

"Ah!" Salai gasped, a slight groan following the sound. He shuddered and moved his hands to the bed, gripping the blanket beneath them. "It hurts," he said, grimacing.

"It will for a while," Leonardo soothed, "but it will get better. Have patience." He was gentle with Salai, but persistent. When Salai started to whimper, he slowed, watching his face to make sure he wasn't causing the young man too much pain. The heady, glazed look in Salai's eyes proved that Leonardo had misread the whimper, and he smiled.

"Take me," Salai panted softly. "_Maestro_, take me."

"_Maestro_?" Leonardo questioned, sitting up a little straighter. His fingers continued to work, drawing quiet little moans from the younger man. "I thought you quit."

Salai might have blushed, but it was hard to tell with how red his cheeks already were. "_Maestro_ is your title," he panted. "I don't have to be your apprentice to address you by it." Nevertheless, Salai filed the issue away to be dealt with another time. If there was any hope of him keeping Leonardo, he needed to stay close to him, needed to make sure that he didn't wander into Ezio.

"Fair enough," Leonardo said. He pulled his fingers slowly from Salai, taking a perverse pleasure in the small, pleased sound the young man made. He moved his hands to Salai's thighs, pulling him closer as he angled himself.

"Mnn!" Salai gasped when Leonardo pressed forward. His hands moved to the artist's shoulders, and he pushed at them slightly.

"Do you want me to stop?" Leonardo asked, stilling.

"No," Salai answered, his voice tight. "I-I just need a moment." He kept his eyes closed and shuddered, trying to control the impulse to push the other away. "Continue," he said. "It feels good..." The last may have been a lie, but he chose to believe Leonardo. It would soon feel better.

Leonardo began pushing again, stroking Salai's body to help distract him from the pain. He let out a tightly controlled breath, and closed his eyes. Being alone for so long, without the comfort of another's body, had taken its toll on Leonardo, and he longed to do more, to take more from this man. Instead, he stopped and waited for Salai to prompt him to move again. When he was told to continue, he showed Salai gentleness, caressing his body softly and firmly in turn. He encouraged the young man to touch his body, to explore him as they coupled. Salai seemed more concerned with the window, though.

"Are you waiting for someone to join us?" Leonardo asked, pausing mid-thrust.

Salai winced and looked up at Leonardo, forcing himself to smile. "No," he said. "Keep going, it feels good."

Leonardo studied Salai's face for a moment, then continued in earnest, drawing quiet moans from his apprentice that slowly grew into cries of pleasure. He took Salai's hips in his hands, lifting the younger man as he panted.

It was as if Salai knew exactly what to do, exactly when to do it. He made all the right sounds, touched Leonardo in all of the right places, and he never once begged for a kiss. Leonardo could have sex with Salai. It was a natural urge, and since neither was attracted to the fairer sex, there was no reason they shouldn't be together. He could rationalize that. But kissing him...the idea was nearly repulsive. He was fond of Salai, but he could not give the boy his heart. That belonged to the decaying corpse of the assassin he so loved. His heart had been ripped from him the moment Cesare had uttered the fateful news of Ezio's death.

"_Maestro_," Salai said in a small voice, tight with pain. "You're hurting me."

He hadn't noticed his roughness, hadn't realized he was gripping a fistful of Salai's hair. He released the blond locks and smoothed them back from Salai's face. He eased his movements, stroked his thumb gingerly over the younger man's lips. "_Mi despiace_," he murmured.

Leonardo grunted when Salai's hands grasped his forearms, and he closed his eyes, focusing on the other's voice, reminding himself who he was with. His pleasure came on him quickly, surprising him, and he moaned quietly as he spilled over his edge.

Salai's eyes widened, and he cried out, raking his nails down Leonardo's arms as he finished, an almost pained, and surprised expression on his face. He listened to his master's slight hiss of pain, but laid there on the bed, dazed. After a moment, he gathered himself and sat up, shivering when Leonardo slipped out of his body. He felt distinctly empty when he struggled onto his knees, and he reached up, placing his hands on either of Leonardo's cheeks.

"_Grazie,_" he whispered against Leonardo's lips. He pressed a hesitant kiss to his master's lips, but was swiftly rejected when the older man turned his face away.

"No," Leonardo said, turning to stand up from the bed.

"Have I not proven my love to you?" Salai demanded, his voice trembling. "Have I not shown you pleasure? Given myself to you? And still, you turn away from me!"

"You don't understand," Leonardo said quietly. He walked to the single dresser in the room and wiped himself clean with a rag. "If you have to prove it," he continued, "it's not love. If you have to bargain for it, it's not love." He turned to face Salai and shook his head ever so slightly. "If you have to force it...it's not love."

Salai turned his face away to hide the tears that brimmed in his eyes.

Leonardo retreated to the living room, pulling a robe he'd found the other day close around his body. He tied the sash around his waist and grimaced at the nail tracks on his forearms. There were small half-moon circles of blood where Salai's nails had punctured the skin. They were small wounds, but painful.

Walking to the washroom, he produced a small wooden box from the corner of the room and set to work cleaning and bandaging the wounds.

What if he'd escaped? If he had managed to run away from his capturers, where would Leonardo go? He would hide, certainly...the posters offered no information other than Leonardo's name, and the reward. There would be people out looking everywhere for that amount of money. There wasn't nearly enough activity for that, though—not enough people on the streets. What if they'd already caught Leonardo?

Ezio swore under his breath and shook his head. It would be impossible to find him in a city this large.

Besides, who was he kidding? Leonardo wouldn't be able to escape from Cesare. The military captain was far too powerful, had far too many resources. His men crawled the streets of Roma in more numbers than even the rats. If Leonardo actually managed to escape his chains, the city Guard would apprehend him before he stepped twenty feet outside of the _Castello_.

The thought depressed Ezio, but he tried desperately to remain hopeful. Surely with so many people looking for Leonardo, someone must have found at least a trace of him? Once he tracked down one such person, all he had to do was follow them. At least, that's what he told himself.

Ezio had just begun to lead his horse down a busy street when he caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, and a whispered curse. He frowned and turned to see a young man running down a side alley. He watched the boy glance back and saw the recognition and fear enter his eyes. Ezio had never seen the young man, but if he was known in this city by a mere child, he had to do everything in his power to stop the boy from telling anyone important.

"Hold a moment!" he called, but the young man didn't even pause in his sprint.

Discarding the horse's reins, Ezio leapt onto a wooden crate, jumping onto a lamp post and then onto a stout building's corner decoration, pulling himself up onto a rooftop. He ran swiftly along the terracotta tiles, his eyes glued to the form of the young man. Whoever he was, he was of wealthy background. The clothes he wore were brightly colored, and looked tailored to fit him. A noble's son perhaps? How could someone in Roma even know of Ezio? Had his infamy spread even this far? The thought shook the assassin, but he brushed it off as he leapt across the gap between two buildings.

The young man ran to the countryside, and when there were no more rooftops to run along, Ezio crouched on the edge of the last building, his eyes narrowed as they tracked the noble. There was a huge expanse of open ground in which he could be spotted, and he wouldn't take that chance. Instead, he waited, and he watched.

The boy looked around a few times, but never stopped running. Not until he reached an old, small house that looked as if it were about to collapse in on itself. There was a small patio branching off the side of the house, which was enclosed with fencing around its perimeter. Why would a noble's son live in such a decrepit building?

Ezio watched the young man knock rapidly on the door and wait, the tension in his posture suggesting impatience. The door opened, and the face he saw past the young man's shoulder snatched the breath from Ezio's lungs. Leonardo! He wanted desperately to jump down from the roof and sprint across the field, but he knew that was unrealistic. Leonardo was obviously in hiding. Running to him would attract attention. The noble boy was enough of a risk, running up to the house like that.

No, if Ezio wanted to see Leonardo without compromising him, it would have to be under the cover of night. So, he settled on that rooftop and waited impatiently. His eyes never wavered from the house. Not even for a second. The sun had nearly disappeared behind the horizon, and the moon had brightened as she took her sister's place in the sky before there was any movement. The door opened, and the young man stalked out, looking disheveled and upset. Now was Ezio's chance.

Once the boy had wandered off, Ezio descended from the roof and looked around. The streets were uncharacteristically empty, even for this time of night, and it unnerved him. The assassin picked his way carefully across the field, wary of every sound he made—and those he didn't. His feet were swift and silent as he neared the house, and he cast one more look around before raising his hand and rapping on the door.

A few breathless moments passed before there was the sound of a lock being unlatched, and then the door finally swung open.

Leonardo was finishing wrapping a bandage around his arm, so he didn't immediately look up at his guest, but when he did, it was with deft indifference. "Back again so soon, Salai?" he asked. His eyes rested on Ezio's chest, where the young man's head would have been had he stood in the assassin's place. Leonardo raised his gaze to the face of the man before him, and his eyes widened. His mouth opened, then closed. He took a step back, and then slammed the door shut, locking it behind him.

Leonardo slammed the door shut and ran across the dusty living room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him as well. "No, no, no," he keened. He turned to watch the bedroom door with wide, terrified eyes.

_This can't be happening_, he thought desperately. _The hallucinations stopped...they went away! Why is this happening again!?_ He was on the verge of hysterics when a floorboard creaked in the living room. His breath caught in his throat, and he closed his tearful eyes, backing into the corner of the room. "Go away," he whispered. Then louder, he croaked, "Haven't you hurt me enough?"

The door opened slowly, and the assassin stepped into the room. "Leonardo," the voice that plagued his dreams said. "I don't understand...I thought you would be glad to see me?"

Leonardo shook his head slowly, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and clamping his hands harder over his ears. "I don't want to hear it!" he choked out. "I can't live like this again! I can't live with you haunting me day and night!"

There was silence, and then something touched Leonardo's arm—it was a hand. Ezio's hand.

"Get away from me!" Leonardo shouted, lashing out blindly. Hands caught his arms, and they pushed them down against his sides.

"Leonardo!" Ezio's voice snarled. The authority in the other's voice made Leonardo flinch, and he stopped struggling and obeyed. His body trembled almost violently, and he thought he was on the verge of pissing himself.

"Please," Leonardo rasped, finally meeting Ezio's dark gaze. "I can't go through it again. I can't watch you die. Not again. I can't..."

"Die?" Ezio asked, confusion in his eyes. "I'm not going to die." He slowly released Leonardo's arms, and he took the moment of calm to look the other over. He looked awful, weathered and old. This was not the man he had left in Venezia. "_Dio_...what have they done to you?" he whispered, stepping forward to take the artist into his arms, holding him close.

Leonardo remained stiff and unyielding for a moment as he trembled. Then he fell unconscious and sagged against Ezio, limp as a ragdoll.


	13. Trouble Ahead

**Author's Note:**** So, this is not the last chapter; it may seem that it ends at a pretty good spot, but I won't leave y'all hangin' ;) Thank you all for supporting me through this with your beautiful and constructive comments, and I hope you've all enjoyed this as much as I have. I anticipate this story having one more chapter, and it'll have run its course. Enjoy, and stay beautiful!**

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><p>"<em>Cazzo<em>," Ezio spat, quickly recovering from the sudden lack of support from the blond. He hefted Leonardo as best he could into his arms and dragged him to the bed. The room stank of sweat, and the bed looked unclean. However, he needed somewhere to set the unconscious man he held. So, he dumped Leonardo onto the mattress as carefully as he could, trying not to cause the other pain. "What has happened to you?" he whispered, brushing the stringy hair back from Leonardo's forehead with a gentle hand. There was so much gray in Leonardo's hair now, he could hardly see the blond that used to shine in the sunlight. It made his heart ache, and it made it all the more easy to see the rest of the ageing in his lover.

He leaned down and unbuckled his boots, pulling them off and dumping them off onto the floor. Next, he removed his sword, throwing knife belt, and various other weapons, setting them aside. Lastly, he removed his bracer which contained the hidden weapon of his craft. He set that on the night stand and crawled onto the bed. His hands carefully positioned Leonardo so that his head and shoulders were in his lap, and Ezio began stroking the other's hair, his touch as gentle as his voice.

"_Amor_," he whispered. "I am here now...You needn't worry now...I'm here." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Leonardo's brow.

A gentle braying from the other side of the house drew his attention from Leonardo. A small smile spread on his lips. "You kept her," he said fondly. "I knew you would...you loved her too much to get rid of her." He fell silent for a moment, the smile fading from his lips. His eyes examined his lover's face, and his fingertips traced the small, almost unnoticeable scars on his lips. He knew what those kind of scars meant...someone had beaten Leonardo. Someone had split his lips open with their fists, or a tool of similarity. Anger surged through him so fiercely his vision dimmed for a moment. Whomever had laid a finger on Leonardo would die by his blade.

The door jingled, and in the span it took the would-be-intruder to realize the door was locked, Ezio had loaded and pointed the miniature canon attached to his wrist at the bedroom door and poised his hand to fire. He strained his ears, searching out the tell-tale sound of footsteps. His eyes closed, and he focused.

_There you are_, he thought. He tracked the body, using what little he knew of the layout of the house to his advantage. He had no doubt that he could easily dispatch anyone that came through the door, but he worried about Leonardo being caught in the crossfire. The loud sound of shutters being pried open reached Ezio's ears, and he frowned. Obviously the intruder hadn't found the shutter he'd already left open from when he'd first entered the building. _Not an assassin_, he thought. The footsteps he heard were certain, and swift. _In a hurry; possibly familiar with the building._ He frowned. The steps had stopped. If he listened hard enough, he could almost hear the intruder breathing.

A gentle knock at the door...hesitant. Why would someone intent on taking Leonardo's life be hesitant? He considered lowering his weapon, then thought better of it. At least until he knew the identity of this person. He was about to call out for the other to identify himself when the door creaked open.

The blond boy from before stood in the doorway, looking sullen and miserable. But when he saw Ezio in the room with Leonardo on his lap and the gun-powder-stained barrel of a gun aimed at him, the boy's eyes widened, and he held his hands up.

"I-I'm not armed!" he stammered. "Don't shoot!"

Ezio narrowed his eyes at the boy. Leonardo had allowed him into the house easily enough...could he perhaps be trusted? No...not trusted. But he also had no reason to distrust him...yet. "Your name and relation to Leonardo," he ordered in a harsh voice.

The boy swallowed hard, eyeing the gun still pointed at him. "Sallai," he said in a thin voice. "I am—was..._Maestro_ Leonardo's apprentice."

"Was?" Ezio prompted when the boy seemed unwilling to offer more.

"I-I quit a few weeks ago," he stammered, raising his hands still higher. "Who are you?"

"I will ask the questions for now, thank you," the assassin said. "I am, after all, the one with the weapon here. Now, if you quit your job under Leonardo weeks ago, why have you just broken into his house?"

That gave Sallai pause. "The door was locked...I forgot my pullover when I left." He looked down at Leonardo. "Are...are you going to kill him?"

Fury flashed through Ezio's eyes, followed by a fierce protectiveness. "Of course not," he said. "Stay where you are—if you move, I will put a bullet in your leg." He waited for the teen to nod, and then carefully removed himself from the bed. His gun never wavered. Once he was certain Leonardo would rest quietly, he turned to face Sallai. "What business have you with the _Maestro_?"

"I told you, I forgot my pullover—"

"I meant why did you come here at all. You would have to be blind not to see the wanted posters. Why would you put Leonardo at such risk by coming here?"

Sallai bristled visibly, but he reigned in his indignation. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"Actually, you do." He reached down and picked up his scabbard, pulling his sword from its sheathe. "Start talking."

Sallai's eyes hardened, and he lowered his hands almost defiantly. "I'm here because of you," he all but spat.

Ezio raised a brow. "Me? I've never seen you in my life. How could I have been the cause of your presence here?" He didn't like the attitude Sallai's demeanor held. It reminded him of another snot-nosed kid he'd known. Then again, Federico had grown up okay. His heart ached faintly at the memory of his brother, but he ignored it as best as he could.

"I saw you at the market earlier. I knew you'd come here for Leonardo. I couldn't let you take him from me," Sallai said.

The assassin's brow rose a little higher, but he sheathed his sword. "I believe you are confused," he said. "You see, I came here looking for Leonardo. That is correct. But I came here with the understanding that I wouldn't be met with competition for him." He took a step toward Sallai, watching the boy scurry back a few steps. "I haven't come all this way to have to contend with the likes of you."

"The likes of me?" Sallai snapped indignantly. "If it weren't for me, he would have died in a cesspool. It's not like he had anyone else to look after him while he grieved for someone who wasn't actually dead!"

Ezio paused at that. That was the second time someone had accused him of being dead... "I am obviously not dead," he said. "I am here in the flesh. Who lead you to believe otherwise? Give me his name."

Sallai rolled his eyes. "Why? So you can go off and kill the bastard? I don't aid petty criminals."

"You're helping Leonardo," he pointed out.

The teen bristled again. "You should have stayed dead," he said, turning his glare fully on the assassin. "Now that you're back, you're only going to complicate his life again. Before this whole mess with the Borgia, he was starting to get better...he was starting to let you go."

Something cold and hard settled into the assassin's stomach, and he gripped the hilt of his sword again. He refrained from drawing the weapon, though. Threats were no good if you weren't willing to follow through with it. "You don't have the right to make that decision," Ezio said. "If it weren't for the Borgia, we would have met sooner. So if you want to blame anyone, blame Cesare."

Sallai took a step toward the assassin, becoming more brazen as his anger surged. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a groan.

The two males turned to face the bed to look at Leonardo.

"_Maestro_!" Sallai exclaimed, moving toward the bed. He stopped short when a hand gripped the back of his tunic and pulled him back.

"Stay back," Ezio ordered. When he was sure Sallai wouldn't try to bolt toward the bed, he sat down on the edge of the mattress beside Leonardo, taking the other's hand in both of his. "Leonardo...are you awake?" He waited in suspense, watching his lover's face intently.

The artist's eyes opened slowly, and he frowned. "Even in my sleep I can't escape you," he whispered.

"_Amor_," Ezio whispered, taking one of Leonardo's hands in his. "I live. I am here with you. I should have been here long ago, but I am here now, _mi amor_."

Leonardo frowned, seemingly confused. "But if you are alive...that means you spent all that time with Christina."

The assassin winced at his lover's words. They cut deep, but the truth in them cut ever deeper. "_Mi despiaci, amor_," he insisted. "I should never have gone with her...it is a mistake I have regretted for so long."

"_Maestro_," Sallai said softly. "Would you forgive him so simply? Would you have him back after hurting you like this—"

"Get out of here you little worm!" Ezio snapped. "I can still show you what it's like to be skinned alive—"

"Ezio, stop," Leonardo said, giving his hand a tight squeeze. "He may be harsh, but he has a point. You left me, Ezio. You knew that Order had eyes on me, and still you chose to go with her."

The memory of the religious-zealot group that had plotted against Leonardo stirred anger long forgotten inside of him, and he settled it before it could surface.

"Leonardo, please," Ezio said, supporting the other as he sat up. "I am begging your forgiveness...I am only a man, Leonardo...only a man. I thought I was in love with her, and perhaps I was as a youth. But the man I was when I was seventeen died when my family was killed. Seeing her again confused me...I didn't know what I wanted anymore."

Leonardo met his words with an uncertain gaze, and it seemed that he was about to cave. Ezio didn't want to convince Leonardo to forgive him. He wanted the other to _want_ to forgive him.

"Don't make the decision now," he said. "Think on it a while. Because if you forgive me, I want there to be no barriers between us. I want you to be absolutely sure. I want to look into your eyes and not see any confusion or questioning there."

"Ezio..._you_ hurt _me_...not the other way around. Why should I give you anything?" Leonardo spoke in a tired voice, and he seemed to wither under the weight of his own words.

He had a point...Ezio was asking Leonardo to open himself up again...to bear his heart for Ezio to share; he would be opening himself for more pain...and the author knew it.

The assassin leaned forward, guiding Leonardo with a finger under his chin. He kissed the other softly, chastely, lovingly, then pulled away. "Because that is the kind of man you are," Ezio murmured against his lover's lips. "And because you know the kind of man I am." He pulled away from the artist and stood. "I will stay close...if any guards should wander near, I will lead them away." Before anyone could voice an opinion—argumentative or otherwise—he left the room and crawled out through the window he'd entered.

The house fell silent once the assassin left, and Leonardo was the first to break it.

"Sallai," he whispered.

"Maestro," Sallai replied just as quietly.

"That did happen, yes? I didn't just imagine it?"

Sallai closed his eyes and turned his face away. With this answer, he would determine their relationship from here on out. If he lied and the assassin returned, he would be shunned...if he answered truthfully, he would lose Leonardo forever.

"Sallai?" The desperation in his voice clutched at Sallai's heart like a frozen vice.

"Yes," he said painfully. "It happened. Ezio is back. He is alive and well...you two can finally...finally be together."

The artist laid back on the bed and turned on his side, facing away from his apprentice.

"_Maestro_?" Sallai choked out. "What do you want me to—"

"Just leave me," Leonardo said numbly. "Please...just for a while."

Sallai stood and walked stiffly to the bedroom door. His hand rested on the wooden doorknob, and he turned back to look at the rumpled, abused form of his once-great tutor.

"If I leave this house, I am not coming back," he said.

Leonardo remained silent long enough that Sallai thought he wouldn't answer. As he opened the door, though, he heard Leonardo whisper, "Then don't leave the house..."

The sorrow in his voice...the regret... It pained Sallai. The decision Leonardo would have to make between himself and Ezio was difficult enough without having to look one of them in the eye and tell him he wasn't good enough.

Sallai turned away and closed the bedroom door behind him. He walked to the front door and opened it slowly. If Leonardo wouldn't make the decision—and by all rights, he shouldn't have to—then Sallai would make it for him.


	14. Finale

"Honestly, how difficult could it be to detain a Baron?" the self-proclaimed Grand Master of the Templar Order demanded.

"Sir, the Baron is suspected to have loyalties with the assassins," the soldier standing in the middle of the room reported. "Whenever we think we have him, he escapes into some burrow or another."

Cesare met the soldier's gaze and steepled his fingers, raising them to his lips. "How close are we to eradicating the assassins?" he asked.

The soldier hesitated, his eyes shifting around the room nervously. "My lord," he said. "I implore you to understand. The assassins have a wide territory, and though our ranks outnumber them greatly, they..."

The Grand Master lifted a thin brow when the soldier's voice trailed off. "They _what_, exactly?"

The soldier cleared his throat and moved his right hand to the pommel of his sword, as if the gesture brought him comfort. "They outmatch us in skill, my lord," he finished in a small voice.

Cesare took a moment to absorb that, and when he spoke, it was with controlled scorn, hidden only by a layer of disdain. "I appointed you Captain of the Guard in Roma for a reason...tell me—_remind_ me—what _exactly_ was that reason?"

The soldier looked about ready to piss himself, but he knew to not respond was to invoke the legendary wrath of Cesare Borgia. "My lord...because...because—"

"I'm sorry? Speak up, Agon. I can't hear you."

Agon cleared his throat once more and nodded briefly. "My lord appointed me to my post due to my reverence for his father, and for my skill on the battlefield."

"And this is in whose words?"

"My lord's."

Cesare tapped his fingers on the dark surface of his desk and sat back in his chair. "Then if I hold you in such high regard, tell me something."

"Anything, my lord."

"Why are you incapable of slaughtering a band of flea-bitten, mange-infested, filth-wallowing assassins?" His voice had risen to a shout by the time he finished speaking. His demeanor had become hostile, and the look in his eyes edged closer to madness. "Tell. Me. Why." He punctuated each word in his rage.

The Captain trembled before Cesare. Had he not feared soiling the Grand Master's fine rugs, he _would_ have pissed himself then and there. "B-b-because..."

"Enough of your sniveling," Cesare said, his voice returning to its carefully calm cadence. "Leave my presence."

Agon bowed deeply, trembling in his fear. He walked stiffly to the ornately carved door and put his hand on the doorknob.

"Agon," Cesare called.

The Captain turned to face the Grand Master.

"I believe this should go without saying, but you seem to have trouble following orders of late."

"O-of course, my lord."

"If you should return to me, and your task is not completed—" He stood from his desk and strode forward to stand before his quivering Captain, a mere pace between them. "—my baby sister will finally have a new plaything. And after she's finished with him, my _dear_ Agon..." He brushed the backs of his fingers across Agon's sweaty cheek. "My dogs will feast on his innards. The bastard children of Roma will swallow his flesh and gnaw his bones with gusto known only to the beasts of old."

Agon was unable to suppress the quivering whimpers which escaped his trembling lips.

"Am I understood, my friend?"

Agon nodded repeatedly, tears trembling on the lashes of his wide eyes.

"Good boy," Cesare said, patting Agon's cheek twice. Once the swine was out of his study, Cesare called in the Captain of his personal guard.

"Mi'lord," the gruff man said, going to one knee and touching his fist to his opposite shoulder.

"When Agon returns, kill him." Cesare walked to one of the many windows on the longest wall of his study and crossed his arms over his chest.

"And if he should succeed?" the ever-faithful soldier asked as he rose.

"All the same." He turned to face the man he trusted most in the world. "Go. Do as I say. Report to me once the deed is done. And when he fails, the mission will fall to you."

"Thank you, Mi'lord," the soldier gave a deep bow before he turned away and exited the room. In his wake, the scent of well-oiled and polished armor remained, which was far preferable to the stench of fear.

Cesare turned his head to look out the window once again. The assassins were practically laughing at him with this. He could _not_ let it stand unchallenged. "I will find a way to draw you out, _assassino_," Cesare hissed to the empty study around him.

_Certainly you will_, Ezio thought, rolling his eyes. He lay flush against the thick over-head rafters in Cesare's study. The shadows were perfect for concealing what the beam did not. He'd come here out of a need for vengeance, but now, he knew he had to apply his craft for a very different reason.

Cesare Borgia was not only the cruelest man in Roma, but also the most desperate. Desperate men were dangerous enough, but when they were as insane as the Borgia, they made it high on Ezio's to-do list.

The hooded assassin waited patiently for the Grand Master to finish his business and leave. He was painfully aware of how easily he could kill the man, but he would never escape the room alive, let alone the papal residencies. The only exit in the study was through the door—unless Ezio was willing to smash through the sealed windows and fall to the ground several stories below. He'd rather avoid that option as long as he could.

Ezio longed to slit this monster's throat, longed to watch scarlet lifeblood flow down his ornate, rich clothes, longed to feel the tug of flesh on the edge of his blade. But he had to caution himself that patience would bring him greater rewards than haste. He blew out a slow breath and moved to crouch on the beam after Cesare left the room. He counted slowly to one-hundred, and only then did he swing down off the rafter, crouching as he landed to absorb the shock in his legs. He could only pray that Cesare hadn't forgotten something in his study.

It had been difficult enough to sneak _into_ the study, but now he had to find his way back out. Exiting rooms was considerably riskier than entering them, since he'd had knowledge that the room would be empty. He had no way of knowing if the hall was clear except to press his ear to the door and listen.

With a muttered prayer, Ezio opened the door and quickly stepped out into the hallway. He looked left and right, whispering his thanks that the hall was empty. After a brief pause to conjure up his mental map of the papal estates, he headed off toward an adjacent hallway, his worn leather boots silent on the fine, expensive red carpet.

Ezio pressed himself against a corner and peered around it. He could have cried in relief when he did.

A window at the end of the hall...a blessed window. He walked toward it and pushed against it.

The window remained firmly shut. It was sealed, there weren't any hinges!

Ezio's heart beat frantically in his chest, and he looked around. He couldn't panic. If he panicked, it would only make the situation worse. What he needed was to find a way out. If he couldn't...well, he'd revisit that thought later. The assassin turned from the window and looked around, grimacing. He walked back the way he'd come, giving each doorknob a careful and quiet turn, wincing at even the slightest sound the brass knobs made. He'd nearly reached the end of the hall when he heard a door open.

"You. _Signore_," a young female voice called. "Was it you at my door just now?"

Ezio cringed, but turned to face the woman with a broad smile. "_Si_," he said, striding toward her. He put a little extra swagger in his steps, fairly exuding confidence as he borrowed from the playacting skills his brother and he had developed when they were younger. "I see the way you look at me, and it sets my blood aflame." He placed his hands on her slender shoulders, turning her in the doorway. He glanced down the hallway as a guard rounded the corner and he pulled her into the room with him. He kicked the door shut with his boot, pressing the young woman against the adjacent wall.

"_S-Signore!_" she protested, pushing feebly at his chest. "This is really quite sudden—"

"_Madonna_," he rumbled, his voice a throaty growl beside her ear. He felt ridiculous growling like that, like some kind of animal. "Don't you want me?"

She leaned her head back just enough to look up at him, a stranger who towered over her like a mountain. "_S-Si_," she stammered. "But...but I am promised to another—"

Her voice was cut off by a sharp rap on the heavy door to their right.

"_Signora!_" the authoritative voice of the guard called. "Is everything alright? Is that man bothering you?"

The lady lifted her brown eyes—they were quite beautiful up close—and met Ezio's hazel gaze.

"_Signora?_"

The sound of a hand touching the doorknob made Ezio's heart skip a beat, and in desperation, he lowered his mouth to her neck, placing feather-light kisses on her olive-toned skin, over the jumping pulse in her throat.

"No," she gasped, surprised by the action. "We're...we're only having a word. I'm fine." She shuddered as Ezio moved his hands to her hips, pulling her close against his front. "L-Leave us, please."

Ezio paused and stilled his hands, listening to the retreating footsteps outside of the room. Once he was certain the guards had left, he pulled away from the young noblewoman.

"I-I don't love him," she said in a rush. "The man I'm promised to, he's a foul man who treats his women like cattle."

Ezio sympathized with her. Had she not found Duccio, his sister might have been forced into an arranged marriage—a fate worse than death, so he thought. Even though Duccio ended up beaten to death by a vengeful soul—he had _no_ clue as to whom that might be—his sister had truly loved him.

"Please, _Signore_. Take me away from here."

The assassin shook his head. "It's not my place to meddle in politics," he said. Then he frowned. "Not _these_ politics, anyway."

"Please," she begged, stepping toward him. "You can take me away...we could be together if you want..." Her voice faded away, and she touched her right hand to her lower belly, laying it flat against her light green dress. "I'm still pure..."

Bile rose in Ezio's throat, and he turned his face away. To think this woman—and barely that she was!—would bargain away her virginity for the chance that a stranger might risk his life to free her from the most highly guarded building in Roma.

"I'm _sorry_." He meant it. "I cannot help you."

The spark of hope that had entered her eyes faded into nothing but fear. Naked, exposed terror.

"Please," she begged once more, her voice hardly more than a whisper. "I am strong, but the women this man marries never last longer than it takes to whelp a child. I will bear you sons. Dozens of them if that's what you wish—"

"Enough," Ezio said quietly, but firmly. The softness of the word—the _request_—was enough to bring her to tears. "_I_ can do nothing. But if you help me, I may be able to send a colleague who could give you the aid you seek."

Her tears spilled over onto her cheeks, a choked sob escaping her. "_Grazie!_," she sobbed. "_Grazie Signore—Tu sei cosi gentile...troppo gentile. Non posso ringraziarti abbastanza!_" She staggered forward and threw her arms around him.

"_Madonna_," he said softly, placing his arms around her and stroking her dark, soft hair gently. "I still require your assistance."

She pulled back from him sharply, as if remembering herself. "Anything," she said, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief Ezio produced from within his pristine robes.

"Allow me the use of your window."

The noblewoman frowned in confusion, but nodded acquiescence, gesturing toward the window.

"_S-Signore_, wait!" she exclaimed as he opened the window.

"_Si_?" he responded, trying not to let his stress show.

"I wondered...and please, don't think I am not grateful for your rejection...but I was throwing myself at you—_begging _you to deflower me. Why did you not accept?"

It stung him that she had to ask such a ludicrous question, but it was understandable. The world was full of filth, and he himself was not so pure as to have escaped it.

"Because I like to think of myself as an honorable man," he said, smiling gently at her. "And because I, too, am promised to another."

She sniffled and clutched the handkerchief to her chest. "She is a very lucky woman."

A half-amused, half-cocky smile came to Ezio's lips as he imagined his beloved in a dress. "She certainly is," he said. "Farewell for now, _Madonna_. I shall send my colleague as soon as I am able." He dropped down out of the window, gripping the bricks of the _Castello's _wall tightly.

Leonardo stood quietly by a closed window. He would have preferred to open it, but with the wanted posters still being mass-printed, he couldn't risk it.

Salai had been his only connection to the outside world since the boy could still wander about mostly unfettered. Leonardo would have run out of food long ago if there hadn't been a basket of goods on the doorstep every morning.

When first he saw the basket, he'd known who had brought it, and it had infuriated him. Would Ezio think him so pitiful he would forgive him with a gift of food? Reason had quickly chased that thought out of his head when he realized how barren the pantry was.

Now, he stood in Salai's uncle's bedroom, staring longingly at the window. He missed the beauty of the sunrise...the frantic chirping of finches and starlings in the cold morning air.

Often times, he would entertain himself by imagining walking outside to bathe naked in the sun's rays. What a sight that would be! More often than not, though, Leonardo found himself pondering what his life had become. He no longer had to choose between Ezio or Salai, so that took absolutely no pressure off of him as he stood in his hideout, praying no one would find him.

Remembering the sound of Salai's last words to him stung like bees and brought him to tears. The boy had been so heartbroken—so lost. If only life were as simple as yes and no.

"But it is," Leonardo muttered to himself. "He hurt you...now you must decide whether or not to forgive him. It's as simple as that."

Would it be worth risking a twice-broken heart to let this man back into his life? Would it be wise to allow this _assassin_ into his heart? He killed people for a living; did it not make sense to turn him in to the authorities rather than to share his bed?

"Love doesn't have to make sense," he reasoned with himself. "You're overthinking this. Just...decide. Yes or no. Make the decision now. Right now." He tried to follow his own orders, but no such decision came to mind.

No. _But what if it truly was my fault that he left? What if I drove him into Cristina's arms by not loving him enough?_

Yes. _But what if he hurts me again? What if he sees another woman he fancies and runs after her? He is young and handsome enough to have any woman he wants. He could probably lure complete strangers to his bed. What if he doesn't love me anymore?_

It all boiled down to risk. Was the risk worth the reward? Hadn't he already made this decision once before? When he first allowed Ezio to touch him, it had been the beginning of a new part of his life. A new part which wasn't burdened by these kinds of trials.

He'd already taken the risk, and it had ended poorly. Now, it was a question of whether he was willing to try again. He'd accepted Ezio because he loved him dearly. He had loved Ezio enough to invite him to his bed again and again. That man _was_ worth his devotion. Perhaps _this_ man could be too.

To be able to wake in the eve, to hear his love climbing through the window, to be able to feel his warmth beside him. To be able to wake in the morning and look to his side and see the warm sun's rays shining onto the bronze skin of the man who so captivated him.

Yes, that was worth the risk.

Turning from the window, Leonardo walked into the living room. He stopped by the kitchen table and emptied the contents of the basket—a loaf of bread, several cheeses, a jar of preserves for lunch, seasonal fruits and vegetables, and a bottle of affordable, but decent wine—onto the table and walked to the front door. He set the empty basket on the doorstep, then turned back into the house.

Ezio listened in silence as the door opened, then closed. Once he heard the lock slide into place, he walked silently across the terracotta tiles of the roof, dropping down onto the ground in front of the house.

Reaching forward, he took the basket he'd used to deliver meals to Leonardo for the past four days and peered inside. A small square of paper lay in the bottom, awaiting discovery.

Heart racing, Ezio reached into the basket and plucked the scrap of paper out. He turned it over and read the carefully scrawled print.

_I forgive you._

He closed his eyes and pressed the paper to his lips. "_Grazie, amore,_" he whispered. "_Grazie._"

"Damn it! Damn you! Damn the whores you piss in!" The butler flinched when the Grand Master smacked the silver platter from his hands. "Write a letter back to the _Capitano_ telling him that he is relieved of his duties and that he can go piss in the squalor like the rest of the filth in this wretched place!"

"Y-Yes sir," the butler stammered, scurrying from the room.

Cesare slammed his hands on his desk and took a few breaths which were supposed to be calming, but only served to fan the flames of his temper.

"_Gran Maestro_," his server said, approaching with a respectful bow. "With your permission, I will begin serving your lunch."

He glanced at the server, then glared at one of the windows. "Where is the usual servant boy?" he asked, gesturing to indicate the black-haired man should begin.

"I'm afraid he won't be working here any longer. He seems to have contracted a most unfortunate illness. If you prefer, I can fetch you a colleague." He tipped the wine bottle, allowing the dark liquid to pour into the goblet before the _Maestro_.

"Just serve the food and get out," Cesare snapped. "I don't have the time or inclination to listen to the whines and whims of every servant in my employ."

The server ground his teeth. "As you wish." He placed the first course in front of the man, then stepped back and to the right where he waited.

As Cesare ate, he read and reread the letter the butler had brought him. "I cannot believe the incompetence of the soldiers who serve me. I give them one task—a simple task!—and they constantly manage to fuck it up."

Tolerantly, the server listened to Cesare's obnoxiously loud chewing and served as he was supposed to. It wasn't until he was pouring the Grand Master's third cup of wine that he spoke.

"I trust you enjoyed your meal?"

Cesare raised one sleek brow. "Normally, the servants do not speak. I believe I would like this tradition to continue."

"As you wish, _Maestro_—"

"Grand_ Maestro_," Cesare corrected, venom in his voice.

The server remained silent for exactly twenty seconds before he spoke again. "_Gran Maestro_, are you aware of the significance of the white asp?"

"Of course," Cesare retorted. "I am royalty, after all."

"_Si, si_," the server said with a nod. "And you are familiar with the uses of its venom?"

"You are trying my patience, servant. Make your point quickly."

The man nodded obediently and began to speak in a deeper tone of voice—one that seemed more natural; less strained.

"You see, _Gran Maestro_, the white asp is notably rare. Its relatives can easily be found in Greece and Egypt, but finding the white is much like trying to find a quill in a pile of feathers."

"I told you to make your point," Cesare snapped, rising from his chair. He would have turned to face the servant, but his leg buckled under him, pitching him forward so that he was forced to catch himself. His hand slapped the edge of his plate and sent the remainder of his meal flying. "What have you done to me?" he rasped. His other leg collapsed, and he sat hard in his chair. "I can't feel my legs!"

"I was coming to that before you so rudely interrupted me. You should really shut your mouth and listen more often—you might find my words to be in your best interest."

"You've poisoned me," Cesare gasped as he began to lose feeling in his lower abdomen. The numbness slowly crept higher as the servant continued speaking.

"Correct. And I'm surprised that you didn't notice sooner. You've been drinking this wine for years according to the cook—I'm surprised you didn't notice the bitterness of the venom." The servant took the second napkin from the tray he'd brought from the kitchen and began to wipe at his face. "I'm surprised by many things, Cesare. But not the cruelty of men. Not any longer."

"Who are you?" Cesare choked out, struggling to remain conscious. "Show me your face."

The servant stepped out from behind the chair. His hazel eyes burned with a hatred that only a man out for blood could muster. His face was blotched where he had missed patches of the powder that lightened his skin, and his long hair was slicked back with a colored oil that made it black instead of its original dark brown.

"Auditore," Cesare sneered. "I should have known."

"Yes, you should have. And now, because of your negligence, you will die. The venom will numb your body so you are unable to move. Then, it will make you sleep. But you see, I think allowing you to pass peacefully is too kind an allowance." He reached forward as the tension in Cesare's arms vanished. His body relaxed involuntarily; his muscles were slowly being paralyzed—drawing a breath was rendered impossible.

The assassin touched two fingers to the spot where Cesare's heart beat sluggishly as the venom worked through him. "This is for my family," he whispered. "You stole Rodrigo from me, but I will take your life in his place. This is for Maria Auditore. For Giovanni Auditore. For Federico Auditore. For Claudia Auditore." His voice constricted with the want to cry out before he uttered the last name. "For Petruccio Auditore." He cocked his arm, bent his hand back, and the gleaming blade of his craft slid out without even the faintest of whispers. He drove the blade into the Grand Master's chest, piercing his heart. After a moment, he jerked his hand back.

"And this is for Leonardo." He drew the razor-sharp edge of the blade across Cesare's throat, opening a gaping red wound that puckered like a mouth at the edges. "This is the last time you will slight me, _Borgia_. I am a child no longer. I am an _assassino_." He wiped his blade with the cloth napkin he held as the raven-haired man choked and bled out.

Before long, the choking stopped. Ezio pulled a shining red apple from within his stolen uniform and set it on the desk in front of the corpse.

"_Requiescat in pace_," he spat, closing Cesare's eyes.


	15. Epilogue

A thin stream of artisans and citizens alike strolled lazily along the paved streets of Firenze. Birds flew high in the sky, twittering their happy tunes, and the sun blazed proud in its place at high noon. It was an unremarkable day in the marketplace—customers browsed goods and services, trading florins for the various baubles they would take home with them to their families.

The year was 1524, and this was the day when a life would end, and a legacy would come to fruition. This was the day when a man would die, but a love would live on for ages to come.

Ezio Auditore walked carefully toward the bench on which he often rested while waiting for his wife to finish shopping. His body had deteriorated rapidly over the last ten years, and now, it was a miracle he could even walk. In his youth—and even in the later years of his life—he had been very athletic, but athleticism became all manner of opportunities for injury the older one became, and recently, with a young, Asian assassin named Shao Jun's appearance, he'd been dragged out of retirement. The recent bout of activity had worn on his old bones, and they ached viciously. He found it difficult to shuffle the few paces from the carriage to this bench.

Despite the pain, Ezio insisted that he come with Sofia and his daughter, Flavia, to the market. It was the one thing they could still do as a family together, and he would sooner die than give it up for something as trivial as pain.

So, the retired Master sat facing the market, a smile on his old, weathered face, and pride glowing in his heart as he watched his daughter prance around his beautiful wife.

A young man broke from the steady flow of Florentine market-goers to sit beside Ezio on his bench. A smug look came over his face, and he looked down his nose at the rest of the world. He exuded an arrogant air, and Ezio shifted slightly away from him, knowing his kind in an instant.

"I hate this damn city," the man sneered. "I wish I was in Roma." He looked over at Ezio, a supposedly knowing smirk on his face—as if Ezio was certain to understand what he was talking about. "I hear the women there are..." He ran his fingers down his face as if in ecstasy, and he smiled. "...like ripe wine. You know? Not like here." He sneered. "Firenze." A disgusted look came over his face, and he spat on the ground.

"I don't think Firenze...is your problem." Ezio coughed, turning his face away politely. He grimaced as pain gripped his chest. His left arm burned and tingled as if he had submerged it in scalding water. He curled his hand into a fist and leaned forward slightly, his other hand moving to his chest.

"Prego?" the younger man asked, leaning toward Ezio. His ugly smile was still in place, even as he watched the old man struggle.

Unable to answer, Ezio focused on drawing in another gasping breath. His heart thundered in his ears, uneven and staggering.

The young man moved his hand over Ezio's, and he gripped it tightly, refusing to budge even when Ezio pulled away. He waited until Ezio turned his hazel eyes to look up at him before his smile widened—a contemptuous expression. "Relax, old man," he said before releasing the hand and standing.

Ezio coughed again, trying to even his heartbeat, but a sudden, bone-chilling stillness came to his chest. He blinked slowly, understanding what had come to pass. In the seconds he had left, he turned his eyes to look at his family. The two most important women in his life, the only things in this world that mattered to him. He raised a hand that trembled and felt as heavy as lead, reached into the inner breast pocket of his robes and pulled out a faded, folded, and yellowed square of paper. He looked down at the fragile scrap even as his vision began to fade.

Instead of reading the faded script, he saw the letters, saw the hand that had written it. He saw the man to whom the hand belonged, and if his heart could, it would have ached.

Satisfied, Ezio let go of his body. His hand fell into his lap, and he leaned back slowly against the bench, his last breath shuddering out of his parted lips as his eyes rested on his wife and child.

The parchment slipped out of his hand and floated to the stones beneath his feet, forgotten as a simple piece of debris. It would mean nothing to anyone but the elderly man sitting on the bench in the square where his legacy had begun. It would mean the world to that man...

Slowly, the parchment settled onto the ground, its faded print facing the harsh sun as its fragile edges curled and withered into dust. Its message passed away with the man to whom it had been given:

_I forgive you_.


End file.
